


Coffee, Black

by quizasvivamos



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Closeted Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quizasvivamos/pseuds/quizasvivamos
Summary: Moving through life in survival mode makes stopping to breathe feel like a fatal mistake. Eventually, emotions become alien, and it’s difficult to imagine the capability of ever feeling anything again.And then one might find himself on a precipice, which is precisely where Blaine found himself: married, thirty, and standing at the edge of Lands End.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 21
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

He hadn’t arrived there on a whim. Not entirely. As a teenager, Blaine had been intrigued by the rich history of San Francisco and how it became home to the counterculture. 

He also liked to believe that there was something uniquely spiritual about nature and being outdoors. 

However, he’d mainly found himself in The City by the Bay because the company he worked for had sent him there. 

There was no profound reason for much of what he did or for what he was doing right now. Only a contract that needed negotiating, as usual. And Blaine was always very good at that part. Something about him made people trust him, and he always knew exactly what to say as if his entire life was scripted. 

At this altitude, there was a chill in the air that whipped his face like the tail of an overeager boxer puppy who’d been out in the snow. He simply dug his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Lands End, they’d called it, like whoever had named it had known all along that he would one day find himself there, alone, desperate, numb, and believing that one more step might be the greatest moment of improvisation he would ever perform. 

The truth was that it had been named due to shipwrecks, one of which was visible off in the distance. A fact that wasn’t any less ironic. 

For twelve years, he’d been looking through invisible glass at a world that seemed promising. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to shatter it. Because every time he thought he could, the glass grew thicker. 

At least it was warm and dry behind the glass. Comfortable. Safe. Others would often peer in like a child at the window of a toy store wishing with all their might that they could be on the other side, living the privileged life Blaine had. 

Because who wouldn’t view his picture-perfect marriage, his six-figure career, and the million-dollar home he inhabited with envy and longing? 

The truth was that the storm was trapped on the inside, pummeling and drowning him slowly, day after day. And Blaine was afraid that one day he’d forget how to breathe. 

He had no one to blame but himself for the lackluster relationship his marriage had devolved into. 

Quinn was an angel. Perfect on paper, driven in her career, the ideal candidate for motherhood. A provider. Beautiful, poised, and polite. Like a doll. A smart as hell sentient doll who takes no prisoners. 

Blaine clenched his fist, flexing his fingers and relaxing again. The ring on his finger had become a part of him, something he hardly noticed or felt anymore. A mundane accessory to his everyday attire. 

Quinn had told him she was pregnant earlier that day. 

He’d abruptly ended the call, slipped his dress shoes back on, and left his hotel room wearing the same suit he’d had on for the meeting earlier that day.

He walked, ignoring the biting wind, ignoring the way his shoes dug into his heels, ignoring the way his phone buzzed for what felt like hours in his pocket until it finally, thankfully ceased. 

It wasn’t a straight drop down the rocky cliff side, beyond which stretched an expanse of ocean out of which rose the Golden Gate Bridge. 

Blaine wasn’t much of a thrill seeker or risk taker, and, though the thought intruded occasionally, he knew that ending his life would not bring him the satisfaction he was seeking. If he had truly been trying to kill himself, then the bridge is where he would have gone. 

No, his thinking wasn’t profound, and his reasons weren’t particularly developed. If for whatever reason he did take another step and fall, he thought that perhaps he might feel pain excruciating enough as he tumbled down to make him feel alive again. 

Perhaps he’d end up as mysterious and oddly peaceful as that shipwreck. 

The reality was that he’d still be as empty and broken as ever.

Blaine heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head. He would have laughed at how twisted his mind had become had he the energy to muster it. 

And then he thought a different kind of thought. 

Under different circumstances, and had he not been alone, standing up there on the edge with that view of the coastline might have been romantic. 

This time he did laugh, a type of bitter laughter that quickly turned more sour, crumbling and wracking his body with sobs he could no longer contain. 

God, no, this wasn’t the type of pain he had been trying to feel. This wasn’t what he wanted at all.

But he was feeling it, and it came in steady waves of typhoon proportion until he couldn’t breathe and found himself on his knees, pebbles digging into them through the thin fabric of his pants. 

His breathing was ragged, and the sound of his pathetic display had tapered off, replaced with only the whooshing of wind and distant chatter of a group of hikers passing by, which soon faded. 

Being on his knees like this brought him back to church. 

Many a Sunday he’d spent sitting with Quinn in the hard, wooden Fabray family pew, listening to a sermon drone on, dully singing hymns, and praying. She was devout, he never believed in God or the idea that there was some predetermined plan for humanity. If God was real, then he was an asshole. 

While religion brought hope to so many, Blaine had found that it had stripped much of his away. 

Blaine heard the clearing of a throat a few feet behind him. He sat there, refusing to turn around and show his shameful face. He hoped whoever it was would just go on their way. 

“I’m not going to waste time and ask if you’re okay, because clearly you’re not. No man who’s okay is out on the trail in designer business attire without a pack. Do you need help getting up?”

Something about the question struck Blaine in a way that sent another wave of silent tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away, trying to compose himself, but only made himself more pathetic as he sat there as if his humiliation had glued him to the ground.

The voice came from just beside him now. “Here.” A hand reached out, not offering itself, but a bottle of water. 

In a wordless exchange, Blaine took the water and unscrewed the cap. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat and mouth were until he took his first sip, swallowing painfully. 

“Thank you,” he managed gruffly. 

“These might come in handy too.” 

This time, the hand was offering two objects: a patterned handkerchief and a pair of sunglasses. 

Without looking at the stranger, Blaine could ascertain from the items that this person had good taste in fashion and was comfortable enough to afford it. 

Gradually and somewhat painfully, Blaine rose to his feet, sliding the sunglasses on to conceal his puffy eyes and splotchy face. He tucked the now used hanky into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and heaved another sigh from deep down in his exhausted lungs. 

“Are you hungry?”

Blaine suddenly felt his empty stomach churn at the thought. “Yes, very.” 

“We might look like an odd pair at the moment, but there’s a place down the road I like to go after my hikes. Interested?”

“Yes,” Blaine said, “please.” 

His mind was now completely focused on meeting his basic needs before he withered away. He’d accept kindness from this stranger and deal with the consequences after. 

Blaine finally turned to face the samaritan, his view obscured by the tint of the sunglasses. The man looked about Blaine’s age, was tall, fit, dressed in a jumpsuit that showed off his legs, and had an elfin look in his eyes, complemented by the shape of his face. 

“The name’s Kurt by the way.”

“The restaurant is called Kurt?”

Kurt snorted. “No, it’s my name. Guess I should have been more direct. I don’t usually have a problem being direct. In fact, sometimes to a fault. The restaurant is called Lincoln Park.”

“Like the band?” Blaine said almost mockingly. 

“Like the sixteenth President and a publicly funded and maintained outdoor meeting area,” Kurt deadpanned, turning and gesturing for Blaine to follow. 

Blaine blinked, shuffling along and falling into step. “What do they serve there?”

“Casual American affair, you know, burgers and fries and chicken and seafood—alcohol.”

“It’s a bar?” Blaine said.

“Well, yes, I suppose.”

“I guess I figured you’d be bringing me to some vegan restaurant. You strike me as more health-conscious, with your regular hikes and all. You seem to be in shape.” 

Kurt laughed. “I’ve always indulged when it comes to food. I’m not _not_ health-conscious, I’m just not afraid of fried foods and sweets and the occasional drink.”

As they walked, Blaine was inside his own head, cursing himself for walking all the way up the trail so rashly. He could feel the blood soaking through his socks from hard leather rubbing against the backs of his ankles and heels. 

“I feel like you know a bit about me now, but you haven’t even told me your name.” 

Stirred from his thoughts by the realization, Blaine quickly said. “Blaine Anderson,” stopping and turning to offer his hand as he would at the beginning of any professional meeting. 

Kurt took his hand. “Kurt Hummel.” 

He let go, and Blaine suddenly felt an odd sense of longing. He took the opportunity to take another drink of water and immediately shook the unwanted thought away. 

“Who’s the lucky man?” Kurt asked with a nod, noticing Blaine’s ring when he brought the bottle to his mouth. 

He nearly choked on the water, coughing until he could breathe and compose himself. 

Kurt patted Blaine’s back, quickly withdrawing his hand as if realizing he might be making the moment more awkward. “Oh, god, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to assume...you’re not gay, are you?”

Blaine shook his head. “Woman. My wife. But, fuck,” he swore. “Your assumption is not entirely wrong.”

“Bisexual? Pansexual?” Kurt offered. “No, don’t answer that. It’s wrong of me to assume any label unless you offer one.” 

Blaine brought himself to look the friendly stranger in the eyes for the first time, drawing a kind smile from Kurt. 

“Why do people ask that?” Blaine caught himself saying without thinking.

“Ask what?”

“Ask a married person who their lucky spouse is?”

“Oh,” Kurt paused, shifting on his feet. “Conversation starter?” He chuckled. “Frankly, it’s a way to politely pry when you meet someone attractive who is legally unattainable.” 

“Oh,” Blaine said, feeling heat creep just beneath the surface of his skin. 

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” Kurt added as he watched Blaine become withdrawn again. 

“No,” Blaine said. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Kurt said, unconvincingly. 

They finally arrived at the bar, and Blaine quickly ordered a salad and more water, not feeling like he could stomach much more. 

Kurt on the other hand ordered his apparent usual, a burger, fries, and a soda. 

Casual dining was correct, and Blaine felt entirely out of place and on display as they sat at the square table in the open-concept restaurant. The remaining sunlight of the day streamed in through the tall, many uncurtained windows that were barely interrupted by strips of wall. 

“Feel any better?” Kurt asked after giving Blaine some time to eat. 

“I think so.” 

“Can I ask you about why I found you where I did?”

Blaine nodded, his gaze not leaving his plate and fork.

“You’re obviously not from around here. Judging by your clothing choice, my guess is that you’re on a business trip. While sightseeing in an unknown city is to be expected, what brought you to your knees at Lands End Lookout?” 

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Blaine mumbled to himself, barely audible. 

Kurt swallowed hard. “That’s something to celebrate, isn’t it?”

“No, well, yes, but — I’m not sure,” he said brokenly. 

Kurt was quiet, allowing Blaine to gather himself and his thoughts. 

“I don’t think I could ever be a good father with the way my job is. And Quinn...she has her career. Someone else would be raising my child.” 

“That’s rough. I get the feeling there’s more to the story.”

“I’m never home.” Blaine repeated, a little more loudly. 

“You have doubts?” Kurt ventured. 

“Of course. Is it impossible? No. Unlikely? I can’t figure it out.”

“Does it have anything to do with your response to my assumption earlier?” 

“I—” Blaine hesitated. “Why _did_ you assume that I’m gay?”

“You give off a vibe,” he offered nonchalantly.

“Like ‘gaydar’?” Blaine said, making air quotes with his fingers. 

“Well, yes. It’s a very real thing, believe it or not.”

Blaine finally found it within him to laugh, feeling some tension begin to slip away. “I don’t really go around telling people about things that I left in the past.”

“You don’t need to share if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Blaine waved his hand in the air as if shooing Kurt’s words away. “I think I need to. After all, you found me in one of the most humiliating positions of my life, and yet all you’ve shown me is humility. I think I owe it to you.”

“Fair enough,” Kurt said. “I’m willing to listen. When you’re ready.”

Blaine picked at his salad, forcing down a few bites. 

“I came out to my parents right before I left for college. And then I left.”

“That’s brave of you. How did they take it?”

“My mom...didn’t say much of anything. I never saw my dad much when he was working, and after an incident with the IRS, I never heard from him again.”

“And your mom?”

Blaine shrugged. “I shouldn’t have dropped the news on her when I did. It wasn’t fair.”

“There are no rules to when it’s the right time,” Kurt said. “If it felt necessary to you in that moment, then you did what was best for you.” 

Blaine shook his head. “She sent me a letter, my mom. After they lost the house, I received a letter at my New York apartment about how they’d left Ohio.”

“Where are they now?”

“That’s just it,” Blaine said. “She never told me.”

Kurt’s fingers twitched with the urge to reach out a comforting hand, but he decided it wasn’t appropriate. “So then what happened when you left for school?”

“In college, I was so focused on my schoolwork that dating was completely deprioritized. I never tried. It wasn’t until after I’d attended a Greek mixer that I reconnected with an ex girlfriend. We weren’t serious in high school, and honestly we weren’t serious then. But she was familiar and comfortable.”

“I understand,” Kurt said. “It was easy.”

Blaine nodded. “My parents had liked her when we dated. That was something they approved of. She was a model student with a bright future, after all. A good Christian from a well-to-do family, a cheerleader, and the Valedictorian. After our college graduation ceremony, I proposed. I’ve always had bad timing.”

“She said no?”

“No, she said yes. But then we both went off to separate grad schools. I continued at Columbia, and she went off to Harvard Law.”

“Wow,” Kurt breathed. “That’s impressive.”

“I guess. But I hadn’t realized then how much I didn’t care that she was two hundred miles away at the start of our engagement. But we saw each other often enough to keep her happy.”

Kurt smirked, taking a drink of his soda to contain himself. 

“She was happy then. I think.” 

“What is it that you do for work?” Kurt asked. 

“I negotiate new contracts for a global marketing company.”

“Sounds like exciting work.”

“It’s not. But I’m good at it. I get to travel a lot, and the compensation is nice.” Realizing how much he had over shared and how long he’d been talking, Blaine asked, “What about you? You’re patient and seem invested in other people and their relationships. Are you some sort of shrink or something? What do you do for a living?”

Kurt simply laughed.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“No, it’s just very refreshing to be asked that.” Kurt peered around the bar, smiling congenially at the people Blaine hadn’t noticed were watching him closely as they ate. “Of course you wouldn’t know what I do. You’re not from around here.”

Blaine’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, are you famous or something?”

“My fame is of the local variety, mostly.”

“So what is it you’re known for?”

“I’m a queer celebrity matchmaker. I help the famous gays find love and companionship here in San Francisco and, occasionally, in other major cities.”

“Like those Queer Eye guys?”

“No offense, but I can tell you’ve been in the closet too long. I shouldn’t have said that,” he added quickly. 

“You’re right though. It’s a fair assessment.”

“They’re more like lifestyle gurus. I mainly focus on romantic compatibility.”

“You’re good at what you do, then?”

“Good enough to share a category on Netflix with those Queer Eye guys,” he said matter-of-factly. “I witnessed enough people throughout my life date, breakup, get married, become widowed, and find love again—but not necessarily all of the above together— to figure some things out I guess.” 

“The sunglasses on a cloudy day finally makes sense,” Blaine said.

“Anonymity is nice sometimes.”

“I’m sure fame has its perks.”

“Being able to afford to live in San Francisco and travel fairly often is definitely a plus.”

“And the fashion?” Blaine said, fully noticing Kurt’s clothing for the first time.

“Oh, definitely the fashion. Not that I completely left bargain hunting in the past. It’s very nice to be able to buy direct.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t buy my own clothes,” Blaine admitted. 

“At least your wife has _some_ fashion sense, even if it is excruciatingly corporate.”

“I deserve that. I didn’t always dress like this.”

“I can imagine. That is to say, that I can perfectly picture you in something a little less drab and a little more fitting.”

“Do you give makeovers too?”

“I have been inclined to assist people in avoiding a fashion faux pas or two. But, sadly, not for pay.”

“Hobbies are important,” Blaine heard himself say, but realized the irony immediately. 

“And what are yours?”

“My what?”

“Hobbies. What do you do for fun?”

Blaine stared blankly at Kurt whose chin was poised on the tips of his fingers and elbows were resting on the table as he leaned forward in interest. 

The truth was that he couldn't remember the last time he had done anything for himself and just for fun. But he dug deep and thought back to his years of undergraduate school in the city. There was the rare occasion when he would take a break from his studies and sneak away, alone, only to find himself in the back of a Broadway theater for a show. It happened maybe a handful of times. 

“I, um, I guess I like musicals.”

Kurt’s eyes grew brilliant. “Go on.”

“I once saw a production of _Cabaret_ in New York that stuck with me for a while.”

“Oh, honey,” Kurt said with a tinge of sadness. “Now _that_ makes sense. There’s way too much to unpack there, so let’s put that aside for the time being.”

“So, you’re familiar with the show?”

“I was _in_ the show. Not the one you’ve seen— _Broadway_ , I mean, I _wish_ — , but with a lesser known theatre company back in college.”

“That’s still incredible,” Blaine said. Realizing how long he’d now been staring into Kurt’s eyes, his eyes flitted toward the table where his hands were now resting. “So, let me pry a bit.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so my guess is you’re probably not married.”

“Your assumption is correct.”

“But your work revolves around romance and relationships. Surely you’re dating someone or even engaged?”

Kurt shook his head. “It turns out that when you spend all your time studying other peoples’ relationships and helping them find love, you never really get around to finding someone for yourself.” 

“Has there been anyone special at all? I find it hard to imagine that someone like you isn’t, well, sought after,” Blaine said. 

He hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Kurt, but there were some things he already knew for certain. The man in front of him was kind, selfless, candid with a sense of humor, genuine and unapologetically himself, and —Blaine would need to be blind not to notice— gorgeous. And not in a fake Hollywood way, but a more reserved beauty that was only enhanced by the humble yet confident way in which he carried himself. 

Kurt was quiet for a while, and Blaine noticed a shift in his demeanor that was somewhat worrying. But then Kurt corrected his posture, fiddling with his accessories, smoothing his clothes and brushing them off as if calculating and deliberately stalling. 

Blaine felt like he’d crossed a line he really shouldn’t have. Shit, shit, shit, he was doing it again, fucking everything up. Why couldn’t he properly read people in social settings? He became too comfortable too soon and should have kept his mouth shut. He did things without fully thinking it through.

“I’m sorry I asked. I’m really not good at this getting to know people thing.”

This time Kurt reached out and grabbed Blaine’s hand, his voice shaking a little when he finally spoke. “Don’t you dare beat yourself up. You have been wonderful. You’ve done nothing wrong by asking what you did.”

Blaine froze up at the touch. Kurt seemed to have no plan of letting go. He gave a gentle squeeze, and Blaine relaxed, his eyes falling to their hands intertwined at the center of the table between them. 

A connection. Like this. It was what he had been craving for so long. It was such a simple thing. 

Kurt released his grip and began to speak slowly, as if choosing each word with extreme care. 

“There was a boy in high school, one of those jock types who dates cheerleaders. We didn’t run in the same circles, but I noticed him. I couldn’t help but notice him. The problem was, I don’t think he knew I even existed. Besides, I was certain at the time that he was straight as can be.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what that’s like,” Blaine admitted. 

“You’ve had crushes on men, right?”

“Well, yes, but I never pursued them.”

“I can’t imagine being in New York City for years and never making a connection with a man. Especially during college.” Kurt laughed and sighed. 

“I didn’t get out much. As I’m sure you’ve gathered. School always came first. In fact, I’m sure now that I was using it as an excuse.” 

“I think we all do that from time to time.”

“Yeah…” Blaine bit his lip, searching his mind for how to continue. “I think it was easier to ignore it as much as possible. I think I realize now what they mean by the right thing being difficult. I cheated myself. And now it’s too late.”

“You’re still alive. It’s never too late to be happy.”

Blaine didn’t know what to say for fear of breaking down into a pathetic mess again. He refused to embarrass himself even more than he already had today, so he requested the check and, on autopilot, snatched it from the server, slid his card into the check folder, and quickly rose to his feet. 

“It was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you, for this,” he said, not sure exactly what had just taken place over the hour and a half that had passed while they spoke and ate. 

He was sure that when he had the chance to fully process it back in his hotel room that he’d be filled with deep regret, back where he had started. 

“Wait, Blaine!” Kurt called out, waving the returned and forgotten credit card in the air. 

But Blaine was already out the door, walking again for as long as his feet would carry him until he decided to call an Uber.


	2. Chapter 2

The fridge door of the mini bar in the hotel suite opened with a soft click. Glass clinked as Blaine absently grabbed the beers that were nestled just inside the door. 

Even after soaking in the bath, his feet were aching, and his heels were raw but had finally stopped bleeding. 

Blaine popped the cap off the first beer before sitting on the edge of the bed with a groan. Sipping the beer as he massaged his feet, he had one plan only for the night: avoid processing at all costs. 

The towel around his waist slipped as he shifted on the bed. Retrieving the remote from nearby, he turned on the news with every intention of tuning it out as he continued to drink. 

Maybe being numb wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe numb was how he was supposed to be. 

Water dripped from his curls, which had sprung back into place after the bath. 

Blaine chuckled at a memory from earlier in the day when a young man on the street had tried to sell him “reefer”. He had never had any interest in trying it, but now he kind of wished he’d not been such a coward and just said yes. If it helped him to not think, then it would have been worth it. 

At least the beer wasn’t cheap and tasted good. That was a perk of his job for sure. The hotels they put him in were luxurious and accommodating. He ran his hand through his damp hair as he chugged the beer. He hadn’t eaten much, so the alcohol hit his bloodstream with a pleasant and welcome swiftness. 

In record time, he was opening the next beer and drinking deeply. 

The news droned on in the background as Blaine set the last empty bottle beside the others. The lights were too much too bright now, so with his remaining energy he reached over to turn them off before plopping back on the bed. When his head hit the pillow, the room spun, and his eyes fell closed. 

His phone vibrated several times much to his obliviousness. And eventually the caller gave up. 

***

Blaine woke to stark sunlight fighting its way through the curtains he had failed to completely close. When he slowly blinked open his bleary eyes, the room came into focus. 

He shivered. Looking down, he realized he’d passed out completely naked atop the blankets. 

And then he noticed a pesky morning hard-on. Generally, it would go away with a trip to the bathroom. And boy did he have to piss. He also had no desire to move, knowing it would feel like a chore. 

When a knock came upon the door, Blaine realized he hadn’t set the placard to “do not disturb”, so he leaped out of bed. 

“One moment, please,” he shouted from the open bathroom. Pulling on the robe from the back of the door, Blaine cracked the door open to kindly ask the room attendant to return a little later.

His eyes grew wide and stomach dropped at the sight of the person on the other side.

Quinn looked a mess, as if she had been crying and hadn’t slept. Her hair was wispy and out of its usual neat pony, and her face sagged, lacking her usual exuberance. 

Without exchanging pleasantries, she pushed her way into the room, locking the door behind her. 

Rather than embracing her, Blaine stepped back until he was nearly to the bed again. 

That was his first mistake. 

He wouldn’t question how she had found him. The woman had always been resourceful and knew how to use her connections. 

Quinn stood just inside the entryway, her eyes quietly scanning the room and falling on the empty beer bottles on the nightstand. Her eyes grew even more glassy as if fighting back tears that would not come. 

The evidence of his bad choices was out in the open and hadn’t been disposed of. 

That was strike two. 

How could he have been so stupid?

“Blaine,” she finally spoke with an ominous calm. 

He stood there unmoving, dangerously silent. 

“Blaine,” she said again. And then brokenly, a question, “Blaine? Say something.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. 

Strike three.

Quinn became a gale force wind, whipping through the room, tearing up the blankets, tossing Blaine’s belongings every which way, digging through the drawers and then his suitcase. She let out a groan of frustration having clearly not found what she was looking for. 

Then she entered the bathroom, exiting in triumph with his phone held high in the air. 

“I have tried to call you for _hours_!” She unlocked the phone, scrolling through to see the missed call record as well as text messages left unread. “Why have you been ignoring me, Blaine?”

She tossed the phone onto the bed like it was something diseased. 

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to run. Instead, he stood there staring transfixed and planted in place without offering so much as a sorry. Perhaps that was all she had needed. 

“Say something. Fucking _say_ something!” 

Blaine was shoved backward, once, twice, yet he remained standing. And Quinn was screaming now, beating on his chest, harder and harder until he could feel the air leave his lungs. 

She’d never laid a hand on him before. Never uttered an abusive word. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?!”

The next blow sent Blaine toppling onto the bed, skin hot and eyes welling with silent tears. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He lay on his side facing away. 

Quinn’s rapid breathing gradually steadied as she stood there, undoubtedly realizing what she’d done. 

“You let me think something had happened to you. I thought you were dead.” 

And then he heard her erupt into devastating wails, filled with a mournful heart wrenching sadness Blaine had never known a human capable of. 

“I…” she said through soft sniffles, “I spoke with Larry.”

“No...” Blaine found himself finally able to speak. He rolled over. “It doesn’t have to be like that. Quinn, please, don’t.”

“It’s been a long time coming, Blaine. We both know it.”

“But, not now—“

“ _Especially_ now! We were going to start a family...I’m pregnant, Blaine. And you ran away, like you always do.”

“That’s not fair!” He said, drawing himself up to face her now. “I’ve done nothing but work hard, for us, for _you_! We built a life together!”

“All built on lies.”

Blaine swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

“Where were you yesterday?”

“I took a walk. Went sightseeing.” The lie was too easy. Too rehearsed. 

Quinn broke eye contact, fishing her own phone from her bag now. “Sightseeing,” she repeated, bringing up a blog article and shoving the screen mere inches from his face. 

Blaine’s mouth fell agape, and then his brow furrowed as his eyes focused, and he read. 

Then he saw the picture of the author, a now too-familiar face staring back at him, the same kindness and confidence in his eyes, yet frozen in time. 

“Kurt Hummel,” she said. “How do you even know who he is?”

“I don’t— well, I do now. I didn’t know him,” Blaine said, realizing how he sounded. 

“You come to San Francisco, one of the gayest cities, and just _happen_ to meet up with one of the _gayest_ Netflix stars and spend an evening with him in a bar. I’m sure it was completely innocent too,” she said, crossing her arms. 

“My work sent me here! What exactly are you implying?” Blaine said, anger beginning to course through him, replacing his fear and mounting frustration. 

“Your mother told me what you are.”

Blaine’s breath hitched, and his blood ran cold. 

“I’ve always known, but I thought and prayed that maybe it was just a phase, that you would get it out of your system. We both did. And when we started dating again and you proposed, I thought it was over. But it never was, was it Blaine?”

“She...you…? I can’t believe it. First, my dad tries to make me more ‘like a man’, and then you and my mom try to _change_ me?!”

“You _are_ gay, then.” 

Blaine took a deep steadying breath, afraid that he might do something irrational if he wasn’t careful. “I’m gay. Are you happy now?!”

Voicing it like that for the first time felt strange and frightening but also really really good. It felt like stripping back years and layers of shoddy patchwork to get down to the bare bones. And he was baring it all. 

“Put on some clothes,” Quinn said with disgust, her eyes falling briefly to Blaine’s groin where his robe had fallen open. “And clean up this room. It’s disgraceful.” 

“No,” Blaine said, feeling emboldened by his confession. He pulled his robe closed and tied it tight as he stared her down. 

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. No more, Quinn. Tell Larry to send the papers right over. You know where I am. I’ll be happy to sign. I have no reason to contest.” 

“That’s it then? You’re not willing to fight? Not even for your unborn child?” 

Blaine choked up. “You’re both better without me.”

Quinn quickly wiped away an errant tear, gathering herself. “Okay. Good.”

“Good,” Blaine echoed. 

“Promptly collect your things from the house and don’t come back. If you want visitation, I suggest you hire a really good attorney, because no one at my father’s firm is going to help you.” 

“Understood,” Blaine said. 

Without another word, Quinn pulled open the door, slamming it shut in her wake. 

When the dust had settled, Blaine sat with his head in his hands. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. There would be legal proceedings involving their estate and alimony and child support, but he didn’t care. 

Quinn could have it all. She was right, after all, and he no longer had reason to hold onto the products of the greatest lie of his life. 

Blaine lifted his head, feeling strangely lighter. He turned over his hands, examining them as if they were alien. Then he twisted his wedding band, sliding it upward until it fell to the floor with a clatter. 

Feeling like shackles had fallen away, Blaine flexed his fingers and breathed deeply. This time, being alone didn’t feel empty and desperate. 

And it was scary, to finally not know what was going to happen, what his future might hold. Regaining control was a double-edged sword. He had a second chance. Now he had no choice but to do what was difficult, what was right, or risk wasting it. 

When his phone vibrated this time, he reached for it. A social media notification hovered at the top of the screen, but he wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. So he ignored it. What prompted him to finally look at his phone was that blog article. 

It had suddenly registered that the story in the article was centered around something very important that Blaine had left behind: his credit card. 

He ran his fingers through his tangle of curls, tugging as he tried to figure out how he was going to recover from that fuck up. The obvious first step was to call the bank, have them disable the card, send him a new one, and then be on his way. 

But when his eyes fell upon the matchmaker’s face again, Blaine knew he didn’t want to do the easy, rational thing. He’d already lost everything, so there was nothing left at risk. 

He felt a hunger inside him growing fierce, one that he’d suppressed for so long that he’d been starving, barely alive. 

And now he was free, allowed to taste the forbidden fruit dangling just out of his reach for so long. 

Fame was a funny thing. Social media was even funnier. When the two mixed, privacy suffered a gruesome death. 

Due to his position in his company, Blaine had kept his personal accounts locked down, only able to be found and friend requested by mutual friends of friends. He had that luxury. 

But a quick Google search brought up numerous results about everything from Kurt Hummel’s age to his height to his relationship status. There were blogs and news stories and even advertisements all pertaining to his work and Netflix series, and some of it was rather unsavory and unflattering. 

Blaine clicked through link after link to site after site, reading every detail and fact about this man, like a crazed fan. No, worse, like a stalker. It should have felt wrong, but Blaine reasoned that nothing would be public if Kurt hadn’t wanted it to be. It wasn’t as if he was searching for leaked nudes or something of that nature. Privacy invasion was not his intention. 

After reading well into the afternoon all about how Kurt got his start right after attending a performing arts college, how he networked and swiftly built himself up to become widely recognized, and how he now resides in the Castro District of San Francisco and can be spotted around the area at certain locations and philanthropic functions, Blaine had found what he was looking for. 

“Perfect,” he said to himself. He scrolled through a recent news article that outlined a charity event that Kurt was announced to be headlining. When his eyes fell upon the date and time, he nearly dropped his phone and jumped out of the bed, scrambling to gather his clothes. 

He had no real plan. He had four hours to find a way to the event and a way in. After that, it was all a matter of chance. Blaine wasn’t sure if he was feeling lucky. But he didn’t care.


	3. Chapter 3

The car pulled up to a cathedral-esque building situated on the 100 block of Valencia Street. Blaine tipped the driver and climbed out to join the large crowd gathering out front. Above the front entrance doors printed in white against black read: 

San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus 

A long pink carpet lined by steel barricades divided the crowd and kept it neatly contained on either side. Blaine knew that even his talent of negotiating couldn’t convince security that he was VIP of any kind, so he joined the other guests awaiting the arrival of what would undoubtedly be celebrity guests and various gay icons. 

As he looked at the people around him and the signs they were holding, he realized how distant he felt from the community even when physically standing amidst its members. 

Nothing he’d packed was appropriate attire for anything besides corporate functions, his only accessories a tie and briefcase. His shoes lacked functionality. Blaine had needed something completely different, entirely new. He wanted an outfit that mirrored the way he was feeling, to reflect what he wanted the world to see him as. 

He’d gone shopping. 

“Nice bow tie,” the person to his left said, his eyes raking Blaine’s body.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, adjusting it as if to straighten it, but set it askew instead. 

The stranger giggled, pinching the sides to straighten it back out for Blaine, who felt his face redden. 

“Thank you, again.”

“No, thank you,” the stranger replied, “for choosing a modest yet flashy ensemble, unlike these other queens.” 

Blaine glanced around, taking in an array of styles of dress, some more sophisticated and others like costumes fit for a stage. The man beside him was clearly a bit older than Blaine, with his salt-and-pepper hair, and was wearing an equally modest dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a bit of trimmed chest hair. 

“The younger crowd thinks it’s Pride whenever they come out.”

Blaine had seen pictures from Pride parades and events, but had remembered seeing more skin, though the same amount of color, ribbon, and sparkle was currently present. 

“But at least there's joy in it.”

The crowd suddenly erupted into deafening cheers, catcalls, and applause as a parade of cars rolled up, stopping at the carpet’s edge. 

Blaine watched as mostly unfamiliar, yet handsome and beautiful faces made their way into the building, stopping briefly for the press and media representatives lined up along the interior of the barricades. 

Distracted and senses overloaded by all that was happening, Blaine had to do a double take when he finally saw Kurt join the lineup and begin making his way through. 

The boisterous crowd grew muted by the rush of blood pounding in his ears, his heart throbbing rhythmically and dangerously quick in his chest. For a moment, Blaine thought he was going into cardiac arrest, his hand flying to clutch his chest. 

The man who was walking— no, gliding— through was Kurt Hummel, but somehow even more sophisticated and beautiful than Blaine had noticed before. Instead of hanging limply across his forehead that was slick with sweat from hiking, his hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. Instead of a hiking jumpsuit and boots, he wore a blouse, patterned jacket, patent leather boots, and strikingly skintight pants that sent Blaine spiraling and momentarily made it hard to breathe. 

Blaine felt like a teenager ogling a celebrity crush as he stood there dumbfounded. As Kurt passed by, Blaine tried to get his attention, but to no avail. 

Thankfully, the guests had begun to funnel into the venue, locating their reserved seats with the help of ushers. 

Once seated, Blaine took in his surroundings. Much like the outside, the interior resembled the sanctuary of a church, yet that was where the resemblance ended. 

This wasn’t a place of stifling religion, of rigid pews, and archaic laws and thinking. There was life and energy here. Sitting there in the theater, the empty risers at the head on a slightly raised stage, Blaine felt a familiar feeling of joy, comfort, and intrigue that he’d felt during his Broadway excursions. 

Soon, the chatter died down as the headliner made his way across the stage. The atmosphere became more reverent and attentive, greeting the man with a raucous ovation. 

Kurt cleared his throat ceremoniously, tapping his stack of cue cards on the podium. 

“Good evening, ladies and gays! For those of you who don’t know who I am—” laughter interrupted “—my name is Kurt Hummel, and I’m _the_ gay celebrity matchmaker extraordinaire. I’m joining you tonight to support a cause that’s deeply personal to me. Tonight, all proceeds will go toward funding performing arts programs in underserved communities.” 

The audience cheered, calming as Kurt continued. 

“And we all know those ticket prices were _steep_.” More laughter. “So, thank you for skipping your rent or mortgage payment this month to join us!” 

Snorts and snickers ensued. He knew how to work a crowd, and Blaine found himself stifling a laugh. 

“Under normal circumstances, I would give a spiel about myself and my connection to this cause. But something happened yesterday that made me realize just how important it is to keep telling our stories.” 

He tossed the cue cards to the ground to gasps. 

“What? You thought I actually had something written on those?” 

The laughter was quieter this time as the crowd grew solemn. 

“As I was saying, it is incredibly important to tell our stories,” he repeated, “and not just the victories and the happy endings. People need to hear that the struggle is still alive, and the closet is still deep. Not everyone’s story is easy. We need to hear about the messy parts, the dark parts. We say ‘it gets better’, yet sometimes I feel as if it’s too easy to leave the pronoun as _‘it’_ is: vague and undefined. Instead, I prepared a little something about identity that I’d like to share with you tonight, titled ‘What We Leave Behind’.” 

Blaine sat up on the edge of his seat, fully aware that Kurt was about to speak about their encounter from the previous day. Partially in disbelief and scared as hell of what he might say, Blaine found himself anxiously tapping his foot. He stilled his body with a few deep breaths, giving all his attention to the words being spoken. 

“When I found a man on his knees before me, he wasn’t there to pleasure and praise me. He was prostrate in the dirt at Lands End, not in prayer, but as if that ledge might be his savior. While I was out on a routine walk communing with nature, it became apparent that, had I not stumbled upon him at that moment, there might have been a much darker ending to this story. 

There was almost a much darker ending to my story. It’s hard enough to lose a parent at a young age, but being gay added layers to my depression, which led me to thoughts of suicide. And had I not had the support of my father and the community I found in my high school show choir, then I might not have made it past my sophomore year. 

It got better for me. 

It’s amazing how many issues we can solve if we just open our minds and our hearts. I offered that man help. And then we sat and we ate. And we talked. And I fell in love, with the moment and the company. He was closeted and married to a woman with a baby on the way, a situation I cannot even begin to imagine myself in. But I can still remember how it had felt to have locked up a huge piece of my identity, depriving myself of freedom of truth and a more pure happiness. I wanted to help free him, but it’s never that easy. So I listened instead. 

Now, as we know, some stories are deeply ironic. The next part I’m about to tell you is something I’ve never shared before. And if truth be told, I am still trying to process it. So, please, bear with me.”

Kurt paused for a thoughtful moment, lifting his eyes once again to address the audience. 

“I have been living as an openly gay man for over a decade, and I haven’t experienced much fear since high school, but I was asked a question in return that admittedly sent me way back, and I choked. Because the answer wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy, because the man I had found on his knees, who had no idea who I was, who’d asked the question, was not a stranger at all.”

Audible gasps could be heard throughout the audience, waves of whispers ebbing and flowing before a hush fell over once more. 

Blaine’s brow furrowed, unsure of what Kurt was talking about. Was this story not about him after all? No, there were way too many coincidences, though the possibility of what Kurt was saying seemed slim. How could he possibly have known him?

“I grew up in a small town in rural Ohio. The school wasn’t huge, but the bigotry was. I learned that even in small schools, not all people cross paths. Especially when one of those people is an overachieving athlete who’s new to town, and the other is an awkward gay boy with little academic ambition and spends most of his days in the choir room.

He was a teenage dream. Perfection in a pint-sized container—and we know some of the best things in life come in pints. He was the complete package: athletic, intelligent, wealthy, and, of course, breathtakingly handsome. All of which contributed to his mounting popularity amongst our peers. He dated pretty, blonde cheerleaders. I stood in the shadows and admired from afar. 

And then something happened our senior year that gave me a glimmer of hope, that maybe my crush was not just another unrequited straight boy crush. He took a male friend to prom. It would have been scandalous if they’d actually been dating. They weren’t. It felt like a cruel joke. I was terrified to be gay, and here this guy was, mocking gay boys.”

Blaine almost called out at the statement, biting back bubbling anger. It wasn’t true. What he was saying wasn’t true at all. How dare he? 

Blaine came out to his parents in May of his senior year. His best friend at the time had been new to the school the same year Blaine had transferred from an all-boys private school. It was a huge adjustment, but he’d grown close to Sam, as they’d shared interests and played on sports teams together. Sam was Blaine’s first crush, and he couldn’t believe he’d said yes to prom. It wasn’t until half the football team showed up at Blaine’s house, dateless in solidarity, that he’d known there had been a severe misunderstanding. Everyone, including Sam, just thought they were there hanging out. Just friends. Prom was supposed to be his coming out, his reckoning, but instead it was part of his undoing. 

“When I found out he was accepted into every Ivy League college he’d applied to, I thought ‘good riddance’. The small performing arts school I found myself at was a beacon at the end of the tumultuous stormy waters of high school. It buoyed me up to higher ground.

But perception isn’t always reality. Because the man sitting across from me in a sullied business suit, tie, and splotchy face and my hanky in his pocket, was a trapped man, dealing with trauma and carrying too much baggage for one person to handle. 

It didn’t get better for him. Not yet. 

I knew when I saw his eyes who I _thought_ he was. I didn’t know _who_ he was until I listened. So, there he was, my high school crush, sitting across from me at last, with absolutely zero recognition of who I was. And I pitied him. And then I felt a deep remorse, for pitying him and for how I’d left him behind all those years ago.”

Kurt looked directly at a camera that was recording him. 

“If by some chance you’re out there, listening through a screen or to a recording, I want you to know this:

I have your American Express card.”

The audience burst into laughter, all except for Blaine who was deeply confused and still trying to put all the pieces of information together to make sense of the matter. 

“A joke...I apologize,” Kurt continued, shushing the audience. “Shit, being serious for so long is hard. Anyway…” 

He took a deep breath, shaking his head before composing himself.

“It gets better. Living is worth the struggle and gets better when you allow yourself honesty and kindness. You are valid, you are loved, and may your truth set you free. Thank you.”

The members of the audience leaped to their feet in a roaring standing ovation as Kurt stepped from behind the podium to take a bow. 

Blaine sat immobilized, tears streaming relentlessly down his cheeks, unable to tear his gaze away from Kurt. He felt dizzy, his body vibrating with strange energy. 

He rose to his feet as the other members of the audience began to take their seats once more while the choir began to enter and fill the risers. 

Kurt blinked hard, focusing on the unusual movement. Unable to look away once they’d locked eyes. 

“Sir,” an usher said from Blaine’s left. “Please sit down, the choir is about to begin their performance.” 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” the woman in the seat beside him whispered. She pointed toward the sign on the wall by the restrooms. 

Blaine shook his head but began to excuse himself, making his way out of the row toward the aisle. 

Kurt’s eyes were still locked on Blaine. 

There was nothing left to do but move forward. 

Blaine crashed through the glass wall like a wrecking ball, the shards of his past flying past him as he walked with haste and purpose toward the stage. 

The words and shouts of the ushers, security, and audience members were lost on him as he remained hyper focused on what was before him. 

“You’re a bit eager,” the choir director said, startling Blaine and pulling him aside. “You can sing with us from your seat, you know.”

“I—“ Blaine was completely caught off guard. He turned around and noticed for the first time that everyone in the entire building was staring at him, some amused, some horrified, and others annoyed, booing and waving for him to sit down. 

“I’ll take it from here,” Kurt said, signaling to the director that he knows this person. He grabbed Blaine’s arm and shepherded him toward the side where Kurt’s microphone had been set up. 

“We apologize for the interruption,” Kurt announced. “It appears that my _duet_ partner has arrived. Surprise! We just need, um, a minute,” he said, reaching to switch his body mic off. “Blaine, what are you doing here?” 

“I heard every word of your speech,” Blaine said. 

“Oh,” Kurt breathed. “Well, I’m happy you did. I meant everything I said. Are you…?”

“I don’t know. I mean, yes, but…”

“It’s okay. You’ve been hit with a lot of heavy stuff recently. I never actually expected you to show up here.” 

“I had to.” Blaine searched Kurt’s eyes now, not sure how he wanted to proceed, but knowing that he wanted to act on impulse and throw caution to the wind. 

“I have to sing now,” Kurt said. “Unless you’re going to join me, then we can continue this conversation after.”

Blaine stepped back, nodding. “Yes, after. Please,” he added before moving off to the side. 

“Okay, so sorry about that,” Kurt said, pausing in horror when he realized he hadn’t successfully switched off his mic. Mortified, he turned toward the audience. “You all heard all of that, didn’t you?”

“Yaaas,” a brave audience member called from the front row. “Go after him!”

Applause followed. 

“Well, then…” Kurt said with an uneasy laugh. “How about that irony? Guess it could have been worse. I could have been taking a piss.” He shrugged, forcing a smile. 

The tension dissolved into laughter. 

“The sooner we do this thing, the sooner I can have that much needed conversation. Without further ado, let’s get started!”

The song began, swelling as melodious voices joined, harmonizing behind Kurt’s solo:

“ _When you're weary_

_Feeling small_

_When tears are in your eyes_

_I will dry them all_

_I'm on your side_

_Oh, when times get rough_

_And friends just can't be found_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down”_

When Quinn had sung with her church choir, Blaine had thought she’d sounded angelic. But standing here in total awe watching Kurt sing was an out of body experience. 

There were multitudes in his voice, each word and note filled with pain and promise, of experience and healing. The natural cry in Kurt’s voice sent shivers down Blaine’s spine and through body parts he hadn’t known was even possible. 

The next verse hit Blaine harder than the first.

_When you're down and out_

_When you're on the street_

_When evening falls so hard_

_I will comfort you_

_I'll take your part_

_Oh, when darkness comes_

_And pain is all around_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down”_

Blaine was sure that Kurt was singing directly to him now, and he found himself walking toward the stage again before he could stop himself, as if a Siren were pulling him out to sea and uncertainty. 

_“Sail on silver girl_

_Sail on by_

_Your time has come to shine_

_All your dreams are on their way_

_See how they shine_

_Oh, if you need a friend_

_I'm sailing right behind_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will ease your mind”_

When Kurt sang the final words, Blaine was standing only a few feet away. 

Kurt stepped down immediately, this time tearing the mic tape off and gathering all the wires of the device. He deposited it on top of the piano and rushed to grab Blaine’s hands to pull him aside. 

But once they were to the side of the room, Kurt kept going, guiding Blaine through corridors that eventually led to what appeared to be a closet converted into a dressing room. 

Once inside he locked the door, turning to face Blaine, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. 

“This is not how I imagined any of this night going,” Kurt finally spoke. 

“I’m not going to apologize,” Blaine said.

Kurt was caught off guard this time. “Oh?”

“How am I expected to hear everything you said and not feel a certain way?”

“How _are_ you feeling, Blaine?”

“Confused. But also…fuck.”

Kurt let out a laugh, stopping himself immediately. 

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Blaine began. “We went to high school together? And I never knew who you were?”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “To be fair, I never made myself known.”

“But you somehow knew all about me and said nothing?”

“I knew your name. I knew I had wanted so desperately for you to notice me, to be more than just a crush. God, Blaine, I had every teenage fantasy about you, everything from first kiss to dancing at prom to tearing off your clothes….You were only a fantasy. I wrote you off as a fantasy, Blaine.”

“Kurt Hummel,” Blaine said, the name not ringing any bells from his past. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be then.”

“Your credit card is in my wallet…” he fished it out of a bag sitting on a nearby table by a mirror, handing it over. 

“I didn’t come here just for that.”

“Then why are you here?”

Lashes fluttering as his gaze dropped to Kurt’s mouth, Blaine couldn’t find the right words. He took a careful step forward, gingerly taking Kurt’s hands, pulling him closer to him as he marveled at the way he let him. 

“Do you still want to do all those things with me?” Blaine asked, just above a whisper. He felt his heart skip a beat as he uttered those words. 

Kurt cupped Blaine’s face with a careful hand, brushing a thumb over his temple, fingertips traced his hairline. He bit his lip, nodding. “I think so.” 

But then, much to Blaine’s chagrin, he pulled away looking ashamed. 

“What’s wrong?” Blaine said. “What did I do wrong?”

“You’re married,” Kurt said. “I can’t be that person.”

“Wait!” Blaine said, brandishing his left hand to show his bare ring finger. 

“I don’t understand. So you took your ring off...that doesn’t change anything.”

“It does! I mean, it is changing. It’s over.”

“Blaine.” Kurt shook his head in disbelief. 

“I’m serious. Quinn showed up at my hotel room. She was livid...things got...bad. I’m signing the divorce papers as soon as I receive them.” 

“Your wife is pregnant, for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re right. She is. That doesn’t make me want to continue living a lie.”

“Well, I’m...I’m happy for you.”

“I came here because I felt like we had a connection.” He licked his lips, once again searching Kurt’s face. “Am I wrong?”

After a moment, Kurt shook his head. “We had dinner together once. But, yeah, I think there might still be something there…”

“Then let’s give this a try, Kurt,” Blaine said with an eagerness that even surprised himself. 

“But then what does that make me? Your rebound?”

“No. Not even close. My relationship with Quinn was over ages ago. I haven’t had a connection with another person since…” Blaine honestly didn’t think he’d ever had a genuine connection with another person, until now. 

“You were still sleeping with her...hence the, well, baby. How is that not a connection?”

“I’m not sure that baby is even mine.”

“Oh,” Kurt said, pausing. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m okay now. I want whatever it is you want. I want you. Please tell me I haven’t read this entire situation wrong…” 

“You haven’t.” Kurt hesitated. “Are you sure?” he said. “Because you need to understand that if you break my heart, and I close the door, I’m not going to open it again. It took years for me to get to where I am today, and I haven’t let anyone in because no one ever seemed worth it.” 

“I’m ready to take risks. I want this, I _need_ this, Kurt. I want to feel alive again, like life is more than just falling into unhappy patterns, more than just keeping up appearances and working until I retire or d—“

Blaine’s eyes fell closed at the gentle pressure of Kurt’s lips on his, slow and sure. The kiss was brief and chaste, and he was sorry when it was over. 

Blaine touched his fingertips to his lips, amazed at how incredible such a simple thing had felt. 

But it was over too soon. He wanted more. 

Kurt stumbled back a bit, catching his weight against the wall as Blaine’s mouth collided with his, roughly at first, but they soon fell into an easy rhythm as he kissed him more deeply, drinking in the moment, drinking in Kurt. And Kurt hummed into his mouth, kissing him back with as much ferocity. 

And then his hands found Kurt’s hips, and he pulled his body flush against him. Blaine’s body jolted awake as if shot with adrenaline after the longest night of his life. 

And he saw the light burst through. 

Tiny explosions of pleasure popped behind Blaine’s eyes, warmth surging through his body he felt himself growing impossibly, painfully hard. 

Panic set in, and he broke the kiss long enough to mutter, “Is this okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Kurt hummed into his mouth again, pulling him back in. 

Their mouths met as Kurt pressed himself into Blaine, interlocking their legs and grinding to catch friction, a slow drag with a quivering breath and a whimper. His hand snaked down between their bodies...

Blaine let out a gasp and a guttural moan as Kurt quickly undid his pants, sliding a hand inside his waistband to wrap fingers around him. First a torturous slow upward glide, then pace gradually quickening and grip tightening as he brought a breathless, eager Blaine to a quick climax. 

Blaine’s head came to rest on Kurt’s shoulder as his body shuddered, again and again, until he was completely spent, exhausted and panting pitifully against the fabric of his blouse. 

Kurt withdrew his hand and held Blaine in an embrace that felt like sanctuary. He could live inside here, and no one and nothing could ever hurt him again. Kurt’s strong arms supported Blaine until he felt his senses return. 

Kurt was noticeably hard against Blaine’s thigh, and Blaine reveled the fact that he’d done that to him. 

Next thing he knew, he was on his knees, his cheek pressed against Kurt’s thigh, fingers scrambling to pop open the button on those painted-on pants, pulling the zipper down until he could smell him, almost _taste_ him. 

Blaine wanted to take his time, peeling Kurt’s pants and then boxer briefs down around his ass. 

Eyes wide, Blaine’s heart thumped wildly at the sight of Kurt fully erect mere inches from his face. 

God, it was incredible the way Kurt cried out when Blaine ventured a taste, running his tongue up his length to the head of his cock. 

He wondered what other sounds he was capable of drawing out. 

“ _Oh_ , _f-fuck_ ,” Kurt swore as Blaine took him into his mouth, fingers digging into the skin of his ass as he slid him deeper inside. “ _H-h-how_?!” he moaned, biting his lip, his hands now grasping at Blaine’s hair, fingers raking through product and freeing curls. 

The slow drag of Blaine’s tongue and lips followed by the steadily increasing rhythm and pressure of the wet heat of his mouth sent Kurt over the edge in a matter of minutes. 

Blaine was pleasantly shocked by the first taste, and as Kurt’s orgasm pulsed, Blaine swallowed it down, pulling off once it had ceased. 

He licked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, admiring his work before rising to his feet. But, no longer able to stand, after adjusting his pants, Kurt guided Blaine back down to the floor with him. 

He took Blaine’s hands, entwining their fingers, and brought his forehead to rest against Blaine’s. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Kurt said breathlessly. 

“I wanted to,” Blaine said, grinning for the first time since he’d met Kurt. 

“Wow,” Kurt whispered. “Your smile is…”

Blaine leaned in and kissed him again, more tender this time. 

“...exactly as I had remembered,” Kurt sighed. 

“Hm?” Blaine said, this time kissing along his jawline until he found his neck. 

“I remember...the first day...I saw you at our school,” Kurt managed through the sensation of kisses. 

Blaine pulled back, looking imploringly into Kurt’s eyes.

“Everyone was talking about the ‘new kid’ who came from a fancy private school called Dalton Academy.” Kurt said the name with a mock air of sophistication. “The girls in the choir...wouldn’t shut up about how cute you were.”

“Cute?” Blaine said with a laugh. 

“Yes, like a puppy. And they all wanted to take you home and play with you— _not_ like a puppy.”

“That’s…”

“High school,” Kurt offered with a shrug. “Anyway, I decided to take a detour past your gym class the one day. I’d never seen someone so in their element. You were waiting your turn for I honestly don’t remember, standing beside Sam Evans, of all people—“

“Why do you say it like that?”

“I mean, c’mon, he was tall, blonde, athletic, handsome, but not very—how do you say it?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Blaine said. 

“But what struck me the most was how you smiled when you looked at him. I’d wished then that you’d been looking at me.”

Blaine swallowed, his eyes downcast. “I thought I was in love with him. He thought we were ‘two dudes hanging out’.” 

Kurt tilted Blaine’s chin up to meet his eyes again. “Imagine how confused I was when you started dating Quinn Fabray. Although, now it kinda all makes sense. She was the president of that abstinence club.”

“Celibacy Club. Yeah…” Blaine said, remembering how adamant she’d always been about preserving her virginity for marriage. 

“You knew you would never need to pretend to want to have sex with her so long as she thought you were a respectful young man.”

“I was,” Blaine said, offended. “I mean, at least the porn I watched as a teenager wasn’t degrading to women.”

Kurt snickered. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know why I even told you that.”

“Because I’m the gay whisperer, haven’t you noticed that by now? People feel comfortable around me and just tell me things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Remember what I said about telling our stories? Also, I don’t know what you watched, but that blowjob was…phenomenal.”

Blaine chuckled, somewhat embarrassed but also proud of the praise. 

“Quinn broke up with me, you know, back in high school. Told me it was to focus on her grades. She was gonna go to Columbia just like her parents. They met there, a real Ivy League love story. There were rumors that she was having sex after all. I guess she needed something real.”

“Don’t blame yourself. People can be fickle.”

“I did blame myself, for a while. I don’t think I do anymore. Not after what she said to me.” Blaine took a deep, calming breath. “Last time I saw my mom was at my wedding. She only showed up because Quinn invited her. Quinn told me they’d always been trying to make me ‘normal’, not gay.”

“Are you okay?”

“I will be. I know it now.”

Kurt gave Blaine’s hands a squeeze. “I know you will be, too.”

Someone knocked on the door, causing them both to jump and spring to their feet, attempting to hurriedly fix their clothing. 

“One minute!” Kurt called out, looking down only to realize that a change of wardrobe was inevitable. 

“Just, uh, checking in, Mr. Hummel. Would you like something to drink...a coffee?”

Kurt pulled two new outfits from the racks, thrusting one at Blaine. “Sure, yes, please…” he looked to Blaine who nodded. “Make that two!”

“Ah, oh, okay,” the voice called in. “And that second drink...also coffee? How should it be prepared?”

“Coffee, black,” Blaine called out without thinking, clapping a hand over his mouth. 

The amusement was evident in the response. “Yes, _sirs_ , coming right up.”

“Black? Really?” Kurt said. “You need some flavor in your life. Desperately.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here with you?”

“You sure are putting a lot of responsibility on me. Now I have a baby gay who’s just learning to walk and needs introducing to the wide world. Well, it’s a good thing you came to the right place. You’re in San Francisco, and, oh boy, is there so much waiting for you out there.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Welcome to my humble abode.” 

Kurt opened the front door of the two-storey Victorian, leading Blaine inside. “Of course, this house has been converted into condos, so I only have the bottom floor. But it’s prime real estate in the heart of Castro. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

As Blaine stepped inside, Kurt glanced over his shoulder. “Shoes off, please.” 

Following the charity event, they’d exchanged numbers, deciding they would see each other again soon. Blaine hadn’t known how serious to take it, as he was used to acquaintances and old friends casually throwing it out there that they should spend time together with absolutely no intention of following through. And they never did. However, the very next day, Kurt had already made arrangements for their first day out in the city—with the promise of many more. 

And so he’d found himself invited to Kurt’s house, like an old friend. 

Blaine hadn’t known what to expect when he set foot in Kurt’s home. After removing his shoes and setting them neatly inside the cubby area of a wooden storage bench, the first thing his attention was drawn to was the Broadway posters, Playbills, and memorabilia that decorated one full wall of the narrow living room, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from the large bay window. 

“All of these shows…” Blaine began, walking closer to examine each item, “You’ve seen them?”

“In some form or another, yes. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? A soda? Water?” he asked, diverting the conversation. 

“Um, water is fine, thank you,” Blaine said, his attention not leaving the wall. “This collection is impressive, Kurt.”

“I’m a bit of a Broadway aficionado. It’s just not always Broadway in New York.” 

Blaine felt eyes on him as he admired the Playbill from _Wicked_ , which was enclosed in a particularly fancy frame. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be bedazzled. 

“That one right there means a lot to me.” 

Blaine had read about Kurt’s acting experience while in attendance at a performing arts college, but he bit back the urge to blurt out his knowledge of the man that hadn’t been given firsthand. 

As Blaine turned to ask about its significance, Kurt disappeared around the corner toward the back of the house. 

Shortly after, jazzy piano music began to play from a speaker above the mantle, adding to the ambience of the place, and Blaine could hear melodic humming from the other room. 

While waiting for Kurt to return from the kitchen, Blaine took a seat on the chaise lounge in the corner. He scanned the room, taking in the rest of the interior décor, which was a hybrid of Parisian chic and American opulence with a touch of modern-day tacky that somehow, surprisingly worked and meshed well with the crown molding and other decorative woodwork. 

Then Blaine’s eyes fell upon a collection of framed photographs that were mounted in a star-shape pattern over the fireplace. He rose to his feet, walking closer to get a better look. 

The image of a man in a flannel shirt, baseball cap, and denim next to another strikingly familiar man in similar attire, minus the hat and much taller and lankier, felt like extreme juxtaposition to everything else about Kurt and his home. 

Despite the older man’s rugged exterior, Blaine couldn’t help but notice his kind eyes. Similar eyes had sat across from him, and looked at him in a way that no one ever had before. 

Being so different, even from your family, growing up in a community that didn’t understand you and allowed ignorance to guide its hateful ideals and behaviors…

Blaine had never had the courage to stand out. 

Perhaps that was why private school uniforms had suited him so well. 

“That’s my dad and stepmom,” Kurt said from behind him, startling him, “my stepbrother, and one of my mom with fabulous eighties hair.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“Snoop away,” Kurt said. “I bet you have questions.”

Blaine gathered his thoughts, wondering if his curiosity about Kurt’s family would end up crossing a line. “During the speech you gave, I remember you said that you had lost a parent. That was your mom?”

Kurt nodded. “I was only four, so it’s difficult to remember much about her. But I will always remember the smell of her perfume.” His eyes fell closed at the memory, and he grinned. 

With a sigh, he handed Blaine a glass of water and said, “Drink up. We can grab food along the way to the shops. I cannot _wait_ to get you out of those clothes and into something more you.” 

“Do you want me to call an Uber?” Blaine asked. 

Kurt waved his words away. “That won’t be necessary. We’re not going too far. We’ll walk today— in comfortable shoes.” 

Blaine was grateful for the new pair of boat shoes he’d acquired, which were a lot more stylish than sneakers and equally as comfortable. To be spending money to break out of his usual nine-to-five getup felt unnecessary for the time being, but he couldn’t deny Kurt when he saw how excited he was just talking about going bargain hunting. 

Blaine hadn’t seen someone so in the zone, vigilant, and competitive since he’d played sports in high school. When it came to bargain designer clothing, Kurt had the keenest eye, and god forbid you get between him and McQueen. 

Blaine marveled at each new thing he learned about Kurt. He’d never met someone so interesting and multifaceted. 

And as the week went on, being out in San Francisco was a roller coaster, both literally and figuratively as Blaine tried to navigate what it meant to be gay in one of the most accepting and open cities in the country. 

The uphill streets they’d traveled by foot took a toll on Blaine, but when they’d crossed each crest, the way down felt so easy. 

New shoes, new clothes, new hair…

“No, no, no, sir. Not today. Black coffee is officially off the menu for you. No, you’re going to spice it up with...” Kurt’s finger danced in the air then pointed at the menu board. “That.” He addressed the barista, “Two Snowy Plovers, please — oh, and two scones.”

“What is a Snowy Plover?”

Kurt was quiet, only giving Blaine a just wait and see look, rocking impatiently onto the balls of his feet while they watched the drinks being created. 

“Don’t ask. Just taste it,” Kurt said, taking the finished product and handing the whipped cream topped iced espresso drink to Blaine. 

Hesitant, Blaine took a sip, carbonation immediately fizzing over his tongue and causing him to muffle a small burp. It was sweet but not too sweet, smooth and creamy with a dash of bitterness. “That’s not coffee, that’s like—“

“A root beer float, but with a double shot of espresso. You’re going to thank me for that as the day goes on.” 

And as he sipped it, reverently listening to Kurt passionately go on and on about the city as they walked along on their excursion, Blaine was almost certain he had a new favorite coffee order. 

As smooth, sweet, and bubbly as his current company. 

Perfect. 

And the city was brilliant, most buildings and storefronts proudly displaying rainbow banners and flags, crosswalks and streets painted with the same flair. 

On the way home after a more casual outing one evening, Kurt took Blaine on an unexpected detour.

“Is that a trolley? Like in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood?” Blaine asked as Kurt led him toward a brightly colored street car. 

Kurt giggled. “You are _adorable_. Seriously.” Grinning from ear to ear, Kurt boarded, dropping a five dollar bill in the box at the front. “C’mon! This is the most touristy thing you can do here, and I’m not letting you miss it.”

After hurrying up the steps behind Kurt, Blaine followed him to a pair of open seats at the back of the car. It felt a bit like high school again when they’d take a bus for a game, the way the other players on the team would gravitate to the rearmost seats with their cheerleader girlfriends to makeout and fool around in hopes that the driver and coach couldn’t see them. That’s how Blaine had experienced his first kiss, which he found to be generally unpleasant and, well, dull. He’d given in to peer pressure, and he should have known then that it wasn’t normal to only be able to think about his planned hangout with Sam while kissing his beautiful girlfriend. 

Now he was zipping along the streets of San Francisco beside a man of whom he had been growing fonder and fonder every day. Their fingers brushed, and Blaine felt a blush rise in his cheeks as Kurt smiled, walking his fingers over to Blaine’s hand before taking it to hold. 

The newness of the experience was reminiscent of adolescence, but with age comes clarity, and he was able to appreciate it much more. The lights of the city flashing by, the vibrant sights of the Castro neighborhood, the way his stomach flipped every time the street car went over the peak of a hill, and the hand that held his, as if to say _you deserve this, to feel all of this_ , made Blaine’s heart simultaneously ache and bloom. In it, he found romance, yet subtle and mature. 

Kurt seemed to be trying to cram in months worth of experiences in between Blaine’s work meetings and Kurt’s time with clients, as if trying to make up for lost time, and, although it was often exhausting, Blaine was happy to be kept busy and on his toes. It helped him not have to think too much. 

Perhaps one of Blaine’s favorite outings—were they dates?— was when Kurt took him to a sing-a-long musical at The Castro Theater. 

Kurt’s eyes were ablaze with glee as they made their way to their seats. Blaine had received a barrage of text messages about how he had secured tickets to _The Sound of Music_ Sing-a-long. He had found the invitation endearing, though he’d never considered the musical a favorite. He’d known a few of the songs, but he couldn’t find it within himself to do much more than hum along. However, after watching Kurt completely costumed as one of the von Trapps, singing boisterously along with every song, causing Blaine to roll his eyes numerous times while also laughing in both amusement and adoration, Blaine decided that the experience was one of his favorite things. 

Then there was the picnic in Mission Dolores Park. It was a change of pace, something calm and more muted than previous outings. It gave Blaine time to fully realize what his life could become, how different things could be because he’d finally made the decision to walk away from a life that was no longer working for him. 

Kurt adjusted his sunglasses, leaning back on his arms. “Can I be honest with you, Blaine?”

Blaine swallowed a bit of sandwich he’d nibbled off. “I thought you always were.”

“Well, yes, but I’ve had a lot on my mind. More specifically, how much fun I’ve been having with you.”

Blaine sipped his mimosa, setting it down gently on the blanket. “It’s been...really nice. What’s on your mind?”

“You,” Kurt said, dazedly. “Ok, so we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I’ve been trying to forget about a lot of contextual things, if you know what I mean. That is to say that, although we’ve already crossed a few boundaries I generally keep pretty strict about, I think we should wait to explore a more serious relationship.”

“Oh,” Blaine said, his eyes now downcast as shame washed over him. “That was very out of character for me that night at the charity event. But I don’t regret it.”

“Neither do I. It’s just that I understand how new all of this is to you, and I want you to be safe.”

“I— I am,” Blaine said, confused. 

“I get tested at least once a year,” Kurt said flatly. “I want you to know that. I don’t expect that you’ve had a similar experience.” 

“I never needed to,” Blaine said. “I was always with the same person.”

“But was _sh_ e…?” Kurt said. “I don’t mean that to hurt you, I just want to emphasize the importance of embracing new possibilities and going forth with confidence and knowledge. The eighties didn’t happen for us to act foolishly and screw without inhibition or common sense.” 

“I hadn’t thought much about that.” After a pregnant pause, Blaine felt his stomach sicken at the thought of Kurt being with other men and not knowing just how many or in what capacity. “Have you…” he began hesitantly, “have you been with many people?”

“Not that many, no. Occasionally, yes, when the opportunity arises. But never anything serious. And never unsafely.”

Blaine couldn’t push down the uneasy feeling, though he knew it wasn’t fair to feel as if it should have been any other way. Kurt created an entire life before he met Blaine. Of course someone like him would be having sex. Still, jealousy crept up on him, seeping into his brain and poisoning his thoughts. 

“Alright. If we ever do anything again,” Blaine responded after some time, “then we’ll use protection.”

“That being said, tomorrow I want to take you dancing. It’s about time we just let loose with music, drinks, and good company.” 

Blaine burst into laughter, causing Kurt to quirk an eyebrow.

Kurt lifted his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes. “What? Please tell me you dance.”

“No, no…” Blaine said, gasping to catch his breath. “I do. You just have a way of timing things that I really kinda love.”

Kurt grinned. “So, is that a yes then?”

Blaine nodded, considering Kurt’s true intentions. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, of course.” 

All his time spent with Kurt made him realize how Kurt was the master architect of his life and destiny. Knowing where he had come from, what he had overcome, how hard he had fought to live the life he currently had, Blaine found himself both admiring Kurt and resenting him. Because he envied him. He knew he could never have done the same. 

But despite the bitter feelings that taunted Blaine, the night at the bar made him realize that, no matter how many men were in Kurt’s past, Blaine was undoubtedly his present. 

At his age, Blaine never got carded anymore, so they entered the club without issue or delay. Due to Kurt’s celebrity status, Blaine had been half expecting an upscale establishment with private rooms or something, but inside the rainbow-painted wood-paneled building, the atmosphere was surprisingly lowkey. 

They sat on adjacent barstools, knees nearly touching and occasionally gently bumping, drinking their beers as they scoped out the crowd and gauged the quality of the music. 

“Ah, there it is,” Kurt said, as Whitney Houston’s ‘Dance with Somebody’ began to play. “This place never disappoints. Except for that one time when they ran out of nacho cheese…” he said more to himself, staring off into the distance as if reliving a traumatic moment. He shuddered, meeting Blaine’s eyes again. “Anyway, the DJ knows how to read the crowd.”

“When I imagined my first experience at a gay bar, I was expecting something more over the top.” 

“Television and movies have really distorted the common conception of queer spaces,” Kurt said. 

“But, like, don’t gay clubs have drag queens and stuff like that?”

“Being gay is not always about being flamboyant or campy or a diva,” Kurt said. “But, yes, some do.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

“It’s okay. You’re learning.” Kurt said. “Queerness is all about individual identity. I’m sure you’ve seen by now that there’s no right or wrong way to be gay, it’s just what you are, and, as long as you’re living in a way that makes you happy and fulfilled, then you’re doing it right. Besides,” Kurt added, “the drag queens were here on Wednesday night. But the best shows are in LA. Just be glad I didn’t bring you to _leather_ night.” 

Kurt sipped his beer, positively grinning around the rim of the glass, his eyes wide and alight in amusement as Blaine sat there mouth agape, his mind reeling and imagination running rampant. 

As the music shifted, Kurt set his now empty glass on the bar and took Blaine’s hand. Diana Ross’ ‘I’m Coming Out’ began to pump through the speakers. 

“Did I forget to mention that it’s Ladies of the Eighties night? It’s time to get that ass on the dance floor.” 

Blaine was pulled into the growing crowd of dancers, stopping opposite of Kurt, who needed no permission to move to the music in whatever way it carried him. 

Hopping, bopping, turning, and swiveling his hips, making up the moves as he went. He sang along to every song, gesturing for Blaine to come closer and join him. 

He wasn’t particularly graceful, and it was obvious he wasn’t a trained dancer, but the energy he gave off was so incredibly attractive, and Blaine was unable to resist his pull. 

So Blaine began to dance, allowing the beat to guide his feet and body. Song after song, he became untethered. No longer held by the weight of his worries, doubts, and insecurities, Blaine flew. He soared beside his dance partner into the early hours of the morning when his feet and legs no longer could hold him. 

Dancing was like releasing the soul from its corporeal prison, and together they transcended the physical world if only for a fleeting moment. But when he came back down, Blaine knew that the person who had come out on the other side was not the same person who’d arrived in San Francisco so many days ago. 


	5. Chapter 5

The affair remained casual. Blaine knew it had to be that way. With his divorce still pending and needing to sort out new living arrangements, it would have been sabotage to rush into anything with Kurt. 

It was too good of a thing to spoil. 

Kurt had argued a good point about not dragging Blaine into his life too quickly in order to preserve his privacy. Blaine appreciated the sentiment, knowing that ending a marriage was bad enough, and being forced to do it publicly could cause him undue harm and trauma. 

That was the thing about Kurt. He was rational, a voice of reason, and while he allowed emotions to carry him away on occasion, he was genuinely advocating for Blaine and his well-being every step of the way. 

Blaine had stayed at the hotel for the past two weeks, but he knew he would eventually be called to another area and city. While he was thoroughly enjoying his time with Kurt, everything San Francisco had to offer, and immersing himself in queer culture for the first time in his life, he was admittedly looking forward to a change of scenery. 

The inevitable call came that evening just as he was sitting down with Kurt for a quiet, casual dinner in his street-level condo in Castro. 

As Blaine had come to find was the usual, the upstairs neighbors were thumping around, which was to be expected under normal circumstances. But always as evening set in, the sound of power tools could be heard, like an oddly timed perpetual construction project. 

“Why does it always sound like there’s a DIY marathon going on upstairs?” Blaine said in between bites of his shrimp alfredo. 

“Construction kink?” 

Blaine stopped chewing. “Really?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t shame.” 

“I guess not,” Blaine dared, “coming from someone who has an entire closet dedicated to vintage gowns and matching heels.”

“Hey, those are bona fide Givenchy worn by none other than Miss Audrey Hepburn herself. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve...tried it…” Kurt trailed off as Blaine scooped up his vibrating phone, excusing himself and quickly rising to his feet to take the call in the other room. 

Blaine’s call lasted a total of five minutes, an efficient communication from the VP of Marketing that led him back to the table with news to share. 

“I’m, uh, due in New York in three days. There’s a series of clients the company is hoping to clinch by the end of the quarter.”

“That’s wonderful!” Kurt said, though the gleam in his eyes dulled a little. 

Blaine hesitated, realizing he had to make a detour on the way that he wasn’t quite ready for. “I think I’m going to book a flight for tomorrow morning. Fly out to Columbus first before heading to Manhattan.”

“Ohio?” Kurt said, though he’d understood the context. 

Blaine nodded. “I figured I’d tear the Band-Aid off. I can’t put it off any longer. The sooner I get it over with, the sooner I can get on with my life.” 

Kurt rose to his feet, walking to Blaine to wrap him in an embrace. “You’ve overcome so much already.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Go forth like Britney during the 2007 VMAs.”

“What...?”

“With strength and courage and the knowledge that I am rooting for you regardless of what the critics and tabloids say.” 

Blaine cracked a bemused smile. “Thank you.” 

“Can I at least drive you to the airport?” 

“I appreciate it, but it isn’t necessary. There’s a direct shuttle from the hotel. Wait, you don’t even drive,” Blaine said with skepticism. “Do you?” 

“I have a license...that expired back in 2013.” Kurt mumbled out the corner of his mouth. “It’s been on my bucket list.”

“You mean your to-do list?”

“Oh, no, driving someone to the airport has been, not getting my license renewed. Although that really wouldn’t hurt to do,” he added more to himself. 

“That’s such an odd thing to have on your bucket list. I don’t get it.”

Kurt smiled, delighting in Blaine’s obliviousness. “You will. One day.” 

“You’re incredible,” Blaine said, wondering just how much there was to learn about this enigma before him. 

“We should finish our dinner,” Kurt said, his tone unusually solemn. 

He turned to head back toward his seat. Blaine followed. 

“Even though I knew this was coming, I’m going to miss you. Like, a lot. So can you do me one enormous favor?”

Blaine shifted in his seat. “Of course. What is it?”

“Can you spend the night? I’ll make sure you get up in time in the morning, and, I may not be able to drive you there myself, but I’ll make sure you get to the airport.” 

Blaine didn’t know how to respond. They’d been spending a lot of time together, but he wasn’t sure they were at a place in their relationship in which staying the night was appropriate. After all, they’d already talked about keeping it casual. This seemed to contradict everything they’d agreed on. 

“I thought we were taking it slow?”

“We—I thought I’d be capable of sending you off and waiting patiently, but it turns out that the thought of saying goodbye hurts far more than I’d like it to.” 

“I want to, Kurt, I really do. But I don’t think I’m ready.” 

“I understand. I won’t pressure you. The offer stands, for any time really.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Blaine said. “I appreciate the offer, and I hope to be able to say yes someday soon.”

The sound of a drill and someone hammering started up again above their heads, and the serious moment dissolved into laughter, the kind that comes at the precise moment to save souls from shattering and hearts from breaking. The kind that makes even the most difficult situations seem manageable or insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 

And Blaine was thankful that he’d rediscovered humor and the ability to laugh cathartically. 

Once they’d finished their lukewarm dinner, Kurt stalled Blaine just a bit longer with a cup of coffee before sending him on his way. 

At the door, Kurt took Blaine’s hand, pulling him gently to him. “Promise me that you’ll call me when you land.”

“I will,” Blaine said. He slid his hands up Kurt’s waist and broad back, his palms coming to rest by his shoulder blades. Kurt’s hands came to rest at the small of Blaine’s back. “I’m going to miss you too.”

Blaine leaned in, catching Kurt’s mouth with his, tasting the sugary sweet cream and coffee on his breath and lips. When he kissed him, it was slow and full of sorrow, feeling as if it might be their very last. Blaine breathed him in. 

And then they stood there in the doorway, holding each other and unable to let go, the car at the curb waiting to transport Blaine back to his hotel. 

“The meter’s running,” Kurt said. “You better go.” 

“It’s an Uber, Kurt.”

“Oh, Blaine, please just go now before I make a complete ass of myself, because I am not in the mood to cry in front of anyone today.”

Blaine planted one final kiss on Kurt’s lips before turning to make his way down the front walk toward the street. 

The inside of the car smelled overwhelmingly like fried food and marijuana, and Blaine’s stomach turned as it sped along up sharply inclined streets and down winding roads. 

Blaine was glad to be in the fresh, open air when the ride ended, and he quickly climbed out of the car. The moonlit path to the hotel was vacant as Blaine entered the building. 

After swiping his card key, Blaine opened the door to his room, and a weight fell upon him like a closing curtain. But there was no standing ovation or encore waiting on the other side. The lights were off and the doors were locked. 

Blaine refused to see this as closing night. Instead, an extended intermission, and when he came back out on the other side, there’d be a revival. 

He had to keep moving forward.

His suitcase had never been completely unpacked, so he made quick work of zipping his remaining possessions inside. Initially planning to leave in the morning, Blaine knew that sleep would not be his friend tonight with the static of anxiety humming in his brain. 

On the ride over, he’d booked a red eye leaving in a few short hours that was set to arrive in Columbus around eight in the morning. 

His Uber was already waiting out front while he checked out. 

The next few hours was a series of blurry exits and entrances, moving, waiting, and moving again. 

Blaine’s eyelids felt as if they were filled with lead as he stared out the small, round window of the plane, dozing off to the rumble of the engines. 

***

A cold light pierced Blaine’s vision, stirring him as the plane touched down at John Glenn International. Steady rain pelted the outer shell like bullets from a firing squad. His stomach rumbled as he gathered his luggage from the overhead and made his way to deplane, but Blaine wasn’t sure he had much of an appetite. 

When Blaine fulfilled his promise, a groggy Kurt answered the phone.

“Good morning,” he said through a yawn. “The sun hasn’t arrived on the west coast yet, but I’m glad you called.”

Hearing Kurt’s voice reminded him why he was willing to endure this particular day and the days that followed. 

“Me too.” Blaine smiled to himself. “I’m safe in Ohio. Go back to sleep now, okay?” 

“Mmhmm…”

“I lo—” Blaine stopped himself, realizing how automatic it had become for his tired mind to recite those three words so casually at the end of a call with little meaning behind them. 

He wanted it to mean something the next time he said it. 

“Goodbye,” he opted for instead, though it became apparent that his words went unheard as soft snoring ensued on the other end. 

Blaine laughed to himself, shaking his head as he ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket. 

He busied his mind with the company newsletter on the ride from the airport, the car cruising down familiar streets and taking some corners a little too sharply, jerking Blaine in his seat. 

Pulling up to the front gates of the estate sent Blaine’s heart sinking into his stomach. After tipping the driver, he dragged his bags just inside and out of the rain, knowing he wouldn’t be there very long at all and certainly wouldn’t be staying. 

Realizing that there was a great possibility that the locks had already been changed, Blaine opted to ring the doorbell instead of letting himself in. 

The house already felt strange and cold, and when the cleaning person opened the door, Blaine audibly huffed. 

Of course Quinn couldn’t be bothered to personally let him in. It’s not as if she hadn’t known he was there. They had cameras and sensors everywhere on the property. Not to mention, he was fairly certain that she’d been using one of those apps to track his phone that undoubtedly notified her once he was within five miles of her location. 

Seeing movement, Blaine’s eyes darted to the top of the stairs just past the chandelier. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Quinn made her way down the grand staircase as if making her grand entrance at a gala. 

She’d always held herself in such a sophisticated way that let everyone know that she was important, accomplished, and a force to be reckoned with. If Blaine hadn’t met her during their sophomore year of high school, he’d probably be terrified of her. 

After all, she trumped him in so many aspects of their lives. The valedictorian to Blaine’s salutatorian, accepted into five Ivy Leagues when Blaine had only been accepted into three, and an accomplished lawyer when Blaine had stopped at MBA. 

With each step that brought her closer, Blaine felt his heart beat more rapidly. His brain was screaming run, but his stubborn body remained planted and ready to withstand whatever she might throw his way. 

Now only a few feet away in the foyer, Quinn stopped and stared down Blaine like a bull waiting for the gate to be lifted. In her hands was a folder with the Fabray and Levin insignia visible in gold. 

“All your possessions are packed up in the garage. I couldn’t bear to look at them anymore.” 

The cleaning person politely excused herself, making haste toward the kitchen and back of the house. 

“Great,” Blaine said through his teeth. “That saves me time.”

“I’d hate to waste your time, especially after you’ve wasted several years of mine.” 

“You knowingly stayed with me. I’m not to blame.”

“ _ You _ proposed to  _ me _ . You married me. You led me to believe that you wanted to start a family with me!”

“I  _ did _ want to start a family!”

“But not with me.”

Blaine was quiet.

“That’s all the answer I need. That’s what you always do, isn’t it? Shut down. You shut down and never say anything when I need you to the most.”

“C’mon, Quinn,” Blaine said, holding out his hand. “Just give me the papers already.”

She thrust the folder toward him with a huff. A tear escaped, streaking down her face. “You never loved me, did you?”

Blaine took a few moments in silence to open the folder and skim through its contents for anything that raised a red flag. After determining it all looked good, he signed his name and returned the documents. 

“I did love you, and I still do.”

Quinn snatched the folder, clutching it to her chest. “Then why are you doing this to me—to us?!”

“I—the way I feel about you has never changed. It’s just that something has been missing, and I can’t live this way anymore, denying a huge part of who I am. Doesn’t it bother you that we hardly even kiss anymore? My love for you has become familiar and comfortable, but there’s no romance, Quinn. I shouldn’t feel nothing when I sleep with my wife.”

“Nothing?” Quinn’s voice wavered. “You feel absolutely nothing? Then why did you fuck me that night after the alumni charity event?!” 

“I was drunk. Doesn’t it bother you that I need to be drunk to have sex with you?”

“That’s so fucked, Blaine—”

“And I hate myself every goddamn second of it!”

It was Quinn’s turn to fall silent. She turned away, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself. “I think you need to leave now.”

“I will. But not before you answer one question in all honesty.”

Quinn’s eyes were shining with unshed tears and rage when she turned to look Blaine in the eye again. 

“Is the baby mine?”

Her mouth hung open wordlessly for a moment before she managed to utter, “There is no baby.”

“What...what do you mean there’s no baby? You lied to me? All of this happened because you lied to me about being pregnant?!”

Quinn clenched her fists. “I wasn’t lying!” She screamed, spittle flying in Blaine’s direction and tears finally bursting through. “How fucking dare you accuse me of lying! There is—there was a baby…”

The divorce papers fell to the floor, scattering. 

Quinn collapsed to her knees as if the confession had drained all her energy, her entire body violently trembling, wracked with sobs. She hid her face in her hands, her hair hanging limply over them while tears leaked through. 

Blaine went to her. 

“Oh, Quinn…” 

He kneeled beside her, hesitantly placing a hand on her back. She flinched but didn’t push him away. 

“I lost the baby.” 

Her voice sounded weak and broken, her words slicing devastatingly deep. 

Blaine felt tears track down his cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around Quinn, holding her there. They cried, together, a deeply mournful cry. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly and earnestly, pulling the handkerchief from his pocket to offer it.

When Quinn got a look at the patterned piece of cloth of which she had no recognition, a fresh wave of tears hit her. She looked up long enough to push it away before slowly rising to her feet. 

“You need to leave now.”

“I hate that you’re hurting like this. Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”

“Just go, Blaine! Now!” she bellowed. 

So he did. But right before he left for good, he turned to say, “I still love you, Quinn. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you needed me to.”

And he closed the door behind him. 

Blaine called the local Habitat for Humanity center and arranged for a few trucks to come take the majority of his things, keeping only a modest portion of his wardrobe. 

As he climbed into the Uber back to the airport, he heard a song playing on the radio that gave him pause:

_ “Stripped to the waist we fall into the river _

_ Cover your eyes so you don't know the secret _

_ I've been trying to hide _

_ We held our breath to see our names are written _

_ On the wreck of '86 _

_ That was the year I knew the panic was over _

_ Yes, since we found out _

_ Since we found out _

_ That anything could happen _

_ Anything could happen _

_ Anything could happen _

_ Anything could happen…” _

Blaine wept silently in the backseat, but the tears that spilled weren’t full of regret or longing or sorrow. Instead, he felt relief. 

Ending things with Quinn after years of what felt like competition, felt like, not a victory, but a draw. And Blaine was happy to begin again on level ground.


	6. Chapter 6

When it had been time to apply to colleges, Columbia was Blaine’s first choice, because, after growing up in Ohio, the idea of city living felt like a challenge and necessary change. He’d known he had the grades, and his resume was jam packed with extracurriculars and philanthropic participation. And, of course, it was his grandfather’s alma mater. 

But, mostly, it was the allure of New York City. 

Blaine grew up with musicals on the television, and when he was six years old, he’d watched his brother perform in his first high school production. The costumes, the singing, the dancing...it was magical. When words failed, Blaine found that music could speak volumes. 

And Cooper was incredible. He quickly rose to play the male lead throughout his high school career. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he ran off to LA for school with dreams of working in television and movies. 

Growing up in Cooper’s shadow had led Blaine to love music and musical theatre in a more casual manner. While he yearned to follow in his brother’s footsteps, he knew he’d never measure up. 

He would follow his brother around and often got roped into Cooper’s directorial pursuits, told to sing and dance a certain way. Their parents thought it was cute how they were bonding despite their large age difference, but in reality, whenever Blaine missed a step or a note or forgot a lyric, Cooper turned into one of the worst critics Blaine ever had in his life. Bossy and abusive, Cooper often sent Blaine away in tears when he’d thought they were just having fun. 

When your only brother whom you idolize tells you you’ll never get it right, it sticks with you. By high school, Blaine had shied away from participating in choir or theatre. His senior year he considered trying out for the spring musical just to say he’d given it a shot, but his friends and teammates had an ongoing joke about how musicals were only for girls and queers and they would beat the homo out of any theatre kid that came near them. It was hard enough fitting in at a new school. 

But Blaine never stopped loving Broadway or lost his fascination in the way stories were told on the stage. 

When the Manhattan skyline came into view, Blaine was glad to be returning to a place he’d once called home for several years. 

And perhaps he’d be calling it home again. 

He’d yet to figure out more permanent living arrangements, and he knew that he couldn’t bear to live out of hotels for the rest of his life. Blaine needed a place to call his own, one that he could make wholly his own. A clean slate to reinvent and redesign himself. 

He felt as if it was meant to be when he found a modestly sized condo a short walk from Washington Square Park listed for just under half a million. After a quick call to a realtor friend, he put in an offer right away and would see how it panned out. 

It hadn’t been an irrational or rash decision either. New York was a major hub for digital marketing, and his company’s main headquarters resided there. 

New York was synonymous with opportunity. It was a sensible, safe decision, but there was also so much to be explored and discovered, so much that the city had to offer that Blaine hadn’t allowed himself to experience when he was still living in the dark. 

The rain had not followed Blaine to New York, though there was still an early spring chill in the air. 

With the dawning of spring, thirty-one was just around the corner, yet his birthday was the last thing on his mind. Over the past ten years, he hadn’t made much of a fuss surrounding growing older, save for a few small gatherings with Quinn and some acquaintances. 

Every year, Blaine used to look forward to a birthday text message from his brother. It was simple, but it had meant so much to him, especially after the falling out with his parents. 

Embarrassed by their father’s criminal behavior and conviction and not wanting to be associated with it, Cooper distanced himself from their parents by cutting all ties. 

Despite their difficult relationship and the fallout of coming out, Blaine was comforted by the fact that Cooper had still reached out to him, even if the occasion was rare. 

But on his twenty-second birthday, the text messages stopped coming. The radio silence only made Blaine’s loneliness more deafening. 

Upon arrival at the hotel, Blaine had his bags sent up to his room with a porter and stopped by the café for a pick-me-up.

“I’ll have a coffee, black...” he began to say, but paused to look up at the menu board. “You know what? I’ll have a marocchino, please.” 

Sugary coffee and chocolate made Blaine’s taste buds blossom, and the caffeine sent pleasant jitters throughout his body, waking up every molecule. 

The taste was reminiscent of Kurt’s lips, causing his eyes to fall closed as he sipped. And for the first time in a while, Blaine felt as if he could take on the day. 

The New York City streets were crowded as usual, the air filled with noise from traffic, construction, and the general hustle and bustle of the steady rhythm of its concrete and steel heart. And after exiting the subway, Blaine’s footsteps fell into time, a comfortable, smooth, gliding waltz down several blocks through the Financial District. 

When he’d nearly reached the East River, the company headquarters came into view, stretching high into the sky and towering over nearby buildings. 

“Good afternoon,” he greeted security, producing his name badge. When given the all clear, he walked through the metal detector checkpoint.

“Welcome, Mr. Anderson. Allison will assist you from here,” he said, directing him toward the front desk.

Allison’s eyes lit up when she saw Blaine, a smile splitting the serious expression she’d worn just before hanging up the phone. “It’s great to see you back here. It’s been—“

“Since last March. It’s been a while, I know. It’s nice to see you haven’t moved on.”

“The company treats me right. I have no complaints. I've just been sitting pretty up here as usual. I’m surprised _you_ haven’t moved on to bigger and better things — or at least a promotion.”

Blaine grinned. “I guess they keep me busy enough.”

“I bet you have so many stories to tell,” she said, leaning her head on her hand. Her gaze fell on his left hand before meeting his face again. “If you don’t mind me living vicariously through you.” 

“Another time, Ally. I promise. I might be spending more time in the city than previously expected.” 

“I hope we get to see more of you around here.” The phone began to ring again. 

Allison handed Blaine a sealed folder, and he mouthed a thank you and offered a parting wave before making his way to the elevators. 

Blaine’s temporary office was situated on the twenty-first floor, overlooking the street. For half of the day, natural light was scarce. It wasn’t much, but he hadn’t needed more than a seat at a computer, which were well-supplied throughout the building. 

As he sat down, Allison’s words resonated in his head. Traveling had been nice, having the opportunity to see various cities around the world, not being tied to an office in any one city. 

But as he sat there, taking in his surroundings and meditating to the sounds of the busy workplace and city life by the Sea Port, Blaine realized he didn’t feel the urge to run anymore. 

For once, it felt as if his world had slowed to an easy pace, no longer trying to launch him from its surface. Before it was as if he was running from an invisible specter that was always right on his heels, but that feeling was gone. 

Everything he did, every decision he made no longer hung heavy with the responsibility of keeping someone else satisfied. 

Blaine unlocked his phone, opening the camera app to snap a picture of himself in his office. Attaching the photo with a quick caption, Blaine hit send. 

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a notification, but he was disappointed to see that it was an email rather than a reply from the recipient of the selfie. 

Upon opening the email, Blaine’s heart thumped harder, and he found himself smiling so big that his face began to hurt. 

His offer had been accepted. He’d be planting roots in New York City after all. Giddiness surged through Blaine, and he found himself on his feet, pumping a celebratory fist in the air. 

He caught a glimpse of a coworker out of the corner of his eye, and he turned, a noticeable blush on his face as he waved and grinned at the spectating woman who shook her head and laughed before going on her way. 

His phone buzzed again, this time with a text.

Rather than type the answer, he quickly pressed call, waiting impatiently through two rings before Kurt picked up. 

“Hello, darling,” came the voice from the other end. 

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine said, unsure of how he felt about the pet name, but then decided he didn’t hate it. “I have good news. I’m buying a condo in Greenwich Village. If all goes to plan, I’ll be set to close by the end of next month.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Kurt’s tone gave Blaine pause. 

“You don’t sound like you’re happy about it.”

Kurt was quiet for a moment. “I am.”

“You’re not, Kurt.”

“Listen, Blaine…” Kurt took a deep breath. “You and I, we just started dating. And now you’re going to be all the way across the country.” 

“Wait a minute,” Blaine said with an edge in his voice. “You knew when we started this thing that I would be traveling. I don’t live in California, Kurt.” 

“I considered the long-distance relationship thing in the past, and it didn’t appeal to me then. And I never realized until now how much I _hate_ the idea of a long-distance relationship. When you left, all I could think about was how I wish you had stayed, and then I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle not being close to the person I’m with.” 

Blaine felt something stir in him, like a beast he wanted to fight back down. “People do it all the time, Kurt. It’ll be so easy for me to catch a plane from coast to coast. I’ll come visit between work assignments. We’ll see each other,” he tried to reason. 

Kurt’s voice trembled as he spoke. “It works for some people, but I’m not sure I’m one of them.”

Blaine couldn’t speak for a moment, his heart feeling as if it had just been ripped out of his chest. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he tried to find his next words. 

“So, what does this mean...for us?”

“I...don’t know yet, Blaine. I think I need some time.”

“Okay,” was all he could manage, though he had the urge to scream. 

“I’ll talk to you later,” Kurt said flatly.

“Okay,” Blaine said again. 

The call ended before Blaine had a chance to utter another word. He stared at the screen of his phone until it turned off, and then he set it down on the desk before him. Palms flat on the desk, taking deep breaths, Blaine felt that if he let go, then he’d go falling through the floor. 

He wasn’t sure what was up or what was down, and he closed his eyes to ground himself. A lone tear escaped, rolling down his cheek and dripping onto the keyboard. 

He blinked his eyes open, lifting his head to look around. What was he doing? What had he done? Just when he thought things were getting better, he’d somehow managed to once again make all the wrong decisions. 

To have ended the call on a sour note left Blaine not knowing where they stood. 

Had Kurt just broken up with him? Was it over? Just like that? 

No, he’d said he needed time. But what was ‘time’ and how much? How was Blaine going to know? 

He shook his head and then shook his hands to rid himself of the doubts and fears eating at him. And then he flexed his fingers, logged into the computer, and immersed himself in his work for the next couple hours. 

He’d wait. But in the meantime, work was a welcome distraction.


	7. Chapter 7

“There’s some moisture damage to the wall in the bathroom, so I would get that checked out. Otherwise, this place has a clean bill of health.” The inspector scribbled something down and then slid some documents from his clipboard, handing them to Blaine. “Congratulations, and welcome to the neighborhood.”

Blaine skimmed absently through the papers. “Thank you.”

After the inspector left, Blaine set the papers down on the kitchen counter, slid his hands into his pockets, and walked slowly through the empty condominium. Each footstep echoed as he went from room to room, empty and hollow. 

Back in the main room, Blaine heaved a sigh. 

He wanted to fill it up, to add color to its bleak interior, but in that moment, he couldn’t imagine the potential of a life and future blossoming within its walls. 

He would make this place his home, but perhaps he too needed time. 

And he was given time. To think. To question. To process. To imagine. To grieve. 

***

Blaine stared at the ceiling of the hotel room. Earlier in the day, he’d successfully acquired one of the new clients, but he’d felt off, and a meeting that generally would have been over within an hour became complicated, dragging on for half the afternoon. 

Three days had passed since the phone call with Kurt. Every time he heard a phone ding or buzz, he reached for his own, hoping and praying, but was left disappointed. 

The obsessive worrying thoughts began to tumble and cascade into full-blown panic as he laid there alone, ruminating. Feelings of hopelessness and despair threatened to walk back every bit of progress Blaine had made. 

He needed to get out, out of the hotel and out of his head. Blaine tore through the suitcases housing his wardrobe until he found a fitted red polo and denim pants. 

Adjusting his belt and examining himself in the mirror, Blaine reached up and partially unbuttoned his polo. 

The subway ride to Chelsea was a quick ten minutes, and Blaine was glad to be out in the brisk night air. He kept alert, eyes scanning the street signs and fronts of buildings as he made his way through the weekend evening crowd. 

Everyone was out to have a good time and to escape the monotony of the workweek, and as Blaine approached the bar, the looks he was receiving did not go unnoticed. 

His posture straightened up a bit as his confidence was given a little jolt. It was the first time he felt like he was truly being seen. 

Once inside, Blaine squeezed through the tightly-packed crowd of carousers, knowing that he needed just a little bit of liquid courage to forget why he had come here in the first place. 

“I pride myself on knowing everyone who comes through here, and I have never seen you before. I would definitely remember a face like yours.”

Blaine turned, meeting the gaze of the man perched on the barstool beside him. 

“What are you drinking tonight?”

This time it was the bartender, who Blaine couldn’t help but notice how his blue eyes twinkled as he offered him a friendly smile. He looked a bit like a clean-shaven Chris Evans, replete with muscles, broad shoulders and chest, his pecs and nipples clearly defined through the thin fabric of his fitted t-shirt. 

Blaine tore his eyes away as heat creeped up his neck and into his face. “Uh, whatever you have on tap, please.”

“Sure thing,” he said, flashing an infectious smile.

As soon as the bartender set the tall glass down, Blaine pounded back the beer. 

“Whoa there,” the first man said. “Someone is thirsty.”

He wiped at his mouth. “You have no idea.” He flagged down the dreamboat bartender. “Another, please.”

Beginning to feel warm and loose, Blaine hopped down from the stool and meandered into the crowd where men of various ages and styles of dress were dancing and grinding to the music pumping through the speakers above. 

The current song was indiscernible, but Blaine allowed the steady beat to carry him as he began to sway his hips and move his feet, turning around as the music flowed through him. 

He was careless. He was weightless. Each step felt like he was floating on the current of steady sound waves. And as he drifted, another body began to anchor him, heat and sweat and dizzying hands on his waist that dared roam down the small of his back to his ass. 

Blaine spun the other direction, maneuvering himself away. But by the time the next song had begun, there were broad hands gripping his hips and an unmistakable erection pressing into his ass, grinding rhythmically along with his movements. 

The combination of heat from closely-packed bodies moving perpetually along with Blaine’s tipsy brain that was bordering on drunken became a sensation overload, and Blaine was beginning to feel as if he couldn’t catch his breath. 

In a fleeting moment of unsteadiness, he returned to the bar, leaning against the side when no empty seat was in sight. 

Blaine’s eyes scanned the area behind the bar, glass bottles and cups of all shapes and sizes glistening in mirrors and lights until he caught the attention of the bartender. But to his disappointment, it was a different man from earlier. 

“Can I get you something?”

Blaine nodded. “Jack and Coke, please.”

“You’ve moved on from the beer, I see.”

The voice came from behind, and Blaine’s pulse quickened as he locked eyes with the bartender from earlier. He grinned stupidly, dropping his gaze as he gathered himself. 

“I never got your name,” the man said.

“You never asked.”

The man laughed. “Wow. Suave and handsome. So what can I call you?”

“Blaine,” he said, cutting the surname for once. 

“Nice to meet you, Blaine. Around here, they call me ‘another of the same, please’ and sometimes ‘Captain’, but you can call me Gabe.”

Blaine chuckled. “Nice to meet you too, Gabe.”

Drink in hand, Blaine stepped away from the bar, sipping from the glass this time. The Chris Evans look alike followed.

“What brings you to the other side of the bar?”

“Sometimes it’s nature’s call, but this time I just so happen to be done with my shift.”

“Heading home?”

“Eventually…hopefully not alone.” His eyes raked shamelessly over Blaine’s body, returning to his face. “Are you sick of dancing yet?”

Blaine choked a little on his drink, covering a cough with his fist. He held up a finger as he turned to finish off the drink and return the glass to the counter. 

“I think I have at least one more in me,” he said, his voice deepening. 

The whiskey now had Blaine’s vision blurring and body thrumming, and suddenly all he could think about was how the other man’s body would feel against his, what his mouth and hands could do...

“Good,” Gabe said, “because I would hate to have missed my opportunity.”

Hands joined, Blaine allowed Gabe to lead him back toward the dancefloor just as the music changed into something with a strange, heavy beat, the vibrations of which rose up through Blaine’s feet, traveled up his spine and into his brain. And he was dancing again, unfettered but linked to another man. 

Turning and swaying, dizzy and euphoric, and then all Blaine could smell was cologne mixed with sweat, body flush with Gabe’s. God, how wonderful those muscles felt as Blaine ran his hands over every inch of chest and back, exploring and tracing, gripping to pull him in closer. 

He was hard, exceedingly, wonderfully hard, and Blaine gave into temptation, allowing the raw bestial physicality of the dance to carry him up, up, until he was grinding desperately against the man, chasing pleasant friction as their mouths collided again and again. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Gabe said, his voice gravelly, almost whimpering in his ear. “Finish this somewhere...else.”

Blaine’s stomach turned when he finally realized the intensity of the situation he had gotten himself into, how close he was to going home with a stranger, albeit one he’d definitely like to fuck. 

He was drunk, his judgment was clouded, and all he could suddenly think about was what Kurt would say about being open and honest and careful and...safe.

Shit, he hadn’t come prepared for anything like this. The gamble was too great to think that Gabe was considerate enough to have condoms readily available. Or of the fact that he’d never fully been with a man in that way before. After all, he’d come onto him in a matter of minutes, knowing he was drunk, with little conversation. 

It was all physical, but Kurt...Kurt was much more. 

“I- I can’t,” Blaine stuttered, taking a step back.

Gabe grabbed his hand, pulling him back. “Something wrong? You feeling okay?”

Blaine nodded, and then he swallowed and shook his head. “There’s someone else.”

“I should have known.” Gabe hung his head in his hand before throwing his hand in the air. 

“I’m sorry for leading you on.”

Before Gabe could say another word, Blaine squeezed his way through the crowd and made haste toward the exit. 

With clumsy hands, he tugged his phone out of the pocket of his tight jeans. His feet carried him off and away, dodging groups of people passing by and waiting outside establishments. 

Phone clutched tightly to his face, Blaine waited with bated breath as he listened to the line ring on the other end. 

“C’mon, c’mon...pick up.  _ Please _ , pick up,” he mumbled as he turned the corner. 

“Hello?”

“Kurt…” he breathed, followed by a pregnant pause. His alcohol-infused brain slammed the brakes on his ability to form coherent thoughts as he stood there on the street beside the subway station entrance. 

“Blaine? Is everything okay?”

And then it poured out like an avalanche down the side of a mountain. 

“You’re the only one, Kurt, the  _ only _ one. It’s been  _ torture _ not seeing your face or hearing your voice, and when I tried to move past it all, I couldn’t because I don’t want some superficial one-time drunken hookup...” He took a breath. “Look, Kurt, I may be miles and miles away right now, but distance can’t change how I feel about you, what I feel is...is that I deeply care about you. I want to give you everything, all the romance, but I don’t know what I’m doing, and it would kill me if I can’t be with you. And, god, I wish I could touch you and  _ kiss _ you right now...”

Kurt was quiet, and Blaine listened for a moment, his soft breaths the only sign that he hadn’t hung up. 

“It feels like it’s over, and if it is, tell me it’s over. I miss you,” he ended quietly, his voice quivering. 

Kurt sniffled and sighed. “You’ve been drinking.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“I— I had a few.”

“Go get some rest, and take care of yourself. I need to process. I’ll call you back in the morning.”

“I miss you,” he said again. 

“I miss you too.” 

The call ended, and Blaine felt as if he was drifting out to sea, his legs like rubber beneath him. Although it was hard to read his response, Kurt said he would call back. 

The buildings around him were spinning as he turned his face skyward. 

He was an ant among giants of steel and glass that stretched high into the smoggy night air. 

So small. So insignificant. 

But now he was punctured, hope seeping slowly in, filling him up until his lips cracked and a smile burst through. 

Down the steps, Blaine waited in a daze for the late night subway train, the barely audible buzzing of fluorescent lights in dimly lit tunnels and scent of urine, mildew, and fumes from the streets above engulfing and sobering him. 

The rumble of the train on the tracks screeched to a halt, inviting Blaine into its car before barreling down the tracks once more. 


	8. Chapter 8

_Bzzrrt._

_Bzzrt. Bzzrt._

Blaine awoke with a start, rolling over and pulling the sheets and blanket with him. He reached his hand out, patting the bedside table until it landed on his phone. 

Bleary-eyed, he unlocked the screen to a series of text notifications. His chest swelled when he saw Kurt’s name.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Blaine set the phone down, an unsettling feeling rising in his stomach. 

No, he wouldn’t give up that easily. He knew that he wanted this badly enough to not let it go just like that. 

He picked the phone back up and called Kurt. 

Damn it. Voicemail. 

“Hey...It’s Blaine. Please call me when you get a chance.”

He ended the call. Anything else might have seemed desperate. 

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

Okay, Blaine could deal with this. After all, the radio silence had ended. He’d said what he needed to say, and now the promise still hung, dangling before him like a carrot that he would fight with all his might to have in his grasp. 

It was already around noon, and Blaine’s lazy Saturday felt like it might drag on forever as he sat waiting for the phone call. 

Managing to get himself up and showered, he styled his hair while fighting the urge to call again. 

Instead, he sat back down on the hotel bed and turned on the television. Nothing could keep his attention as his anxiety mounted. He flipped through the channels again and again until he could hardly take it anymore.

He needed to hear Kurt’s voice, to see his face. 

The Netflix screen loaded instantly, and Blaine logged into his account. He wasn’t sure why he had one, since he had rarely had the opportunity to sit and watch anything for too long with work and life with Quinn being so demanding. But right now he was glad for it. 

Blaine typed Kurt’s name into the search bar, only vaguely knowing the premise of the show. 

Oh, wow. There he was, displayed large at the top of the screen, and when the preview autoplayed, Blaine’s heart ached like a fresh wound. 

_Striking A Match_

New Episodes! 

That was odd, Blaine thought, noticing the date on the most recently released episode. He knew that filming and production typically takes time, but Kurt must have been working on post-production at least while Blaine was still in California. 

Why hadn’t he talked about it at all? To be fair, Blaine hadn’t really asked too much about Kurt’s work. They were too busy living in the moment while he learned more about the city and its people. 

Regardless, here he was on his screen, and Blaine’s curiosity got the best of him as he pressed play on the pilot episode. 

A few hours passed while Blaine was engrossed in the show. He hadn’t before been able to figure out the appeal of reality television, but there was something so endearing and intriguing about the way Kurt worked with people to help them find love that made him melt over and over again, unable to bring himself to turn it off. 

Kurt had looked so young at the start of the first season, and Blaine paused the show, wondering about the latest episode. He was craving Kurt as he knew him now. 

Blaine furrowed his brow as he read the episode description:

_"Kurt helps previously closeted star from the Midwest find a West Coast connection.”_

“What the fuck?!” Blaine shouted before he could catch himself. 

There on the screen was Kurt, sitting across from his client, up-and-coming Hollywood star Cooper Anderson. 

Blaine’s world lurched, turning everything he’d ever known on its head. 

What did any of this even mean? How was his brother gay and he had no idea? Why wouldn’t he have told him? He knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach the episode, and it felt wrong to hear Cooper’s story from anyone or any source but him. 

Screen stuck frozen on the show’s opening image, Blaine snatched up his phone from the bed beside him and immediately called Kurt’s phone. There was no way he could wait any longer, not when something this big was being kept from him. He needed answers, and he needed them now. 

Met with voicemail each time, Blaine called again and again and again until finally…

“Hello?” Kurt was undeniably irritated. “I told you, I am with a client. I need to call you later.” A brief pause. “Are you okay?” His tone had softened a bit. 

“Is he there with you? Is _he_ the client you're with right now?”

“Wha-? Who?”

“Cooper. Put it on speakerphone,” he demanded. 

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt said through gritted teeth, “there’s such a thing as client confidentiality. I’d be breaking so many rules. Not to mention, contractual agreements are in play.”

“C’mon, Kurt,” Blaine said, and then he heard a murmur of voices in the background. 

After a long couple of minutes, there was a tapping sound and a shift in volume followed by a sigh.

“Hey, Blaine.”

“Coop…” 

Blaine was momentarily speechless, torn between resentment and sadness. Hearing his brother’s voice after all this time….He wasn’t sure how he felt. 

“How have you been?” Cooper asked, sounding like he was walking on eggshells. 

“It’s been nine years since I’ve gotten so much as a text from you.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry. I was...trying to deal with my own shit. It wasn’t fair to you, cutting you out like I did.”

“So are you,” Blaine hesitated, “are you really gay?”

Cooper burst into laughter, eventually catching his breath. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. It’s not funny. It’s not funny at all. Actually, that’s why I feel so incredibly awful, like the worst older brother ever. I wasn’t there for you.”

“Honestly, Coop? You never were.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah. I was always kinda a dick to you, wasn’t I. We were kids, though.”

“We were,” Blaine said. “How long have you known? That you were gay?”

“Oh, man, I’ve been trying to figure that part out for ages.”

“But you knew? You knew about me, and you still walked away?”

“Listen, Blaine,” Cooper began with a heavy sigh, “when you came out to Mom and Dad, I received some phone calls that I’d rather not recall at the moment in present company. It was too difficult for me to face you then.” 

“So what is your excuse now?”

“I guess I don’t have one,” Cooper said flatly.

“I need to speak to Kurt now. Alone. If you don’t mind,” Blaine said coolly, but he was on the verge of combustion. 

“Alright. Understood.”

Hearing Kurt’s voice calmed him almost instantaneously, and Blaine felt his anger melt away. 

“I feel like all of this has been one big practical joke, and I’m the butt of it.”

“It’s not like that at all, Blaine,” Kurt tried to assure him. 

Blaine began to ramble. “The problem is, I don’t know what’s real anymore. I don’t know if I’ve imagined everything between us or if you’re even who you say you are. I don’t know if I really _am_ the problem in all of this. I ran away, _again_ , because I was scared to be a man.” He was beginning to hyperventilate as the words cascaded out of him. “Maybe I rushed coming out and ending things with Quinn. I thought I could handle it, handle being an adult and living on my own, making all my own decisions for once in my sad, sorry life—“

“Blaine—Blaine, _please_ ,” Kurt interrupted. “You need to give yourself a break.”

“I’m just…” Blaine began to cry softly, letting out a barely audible whimper. 

“Overwhelmed. I know, Blaine. You’ve been beating yourself up for years for things that aren’t your fault, and now it’s time to show yourself some kindness. You need to heal you. I’m telling you this because I care about you. I suggest you do something that brings you joy. Do something to take your mind off everything and just...be. Rediscover what it’s like to sit alone and experience being alive and...happy.”

“I don’t remember how.”

“What about Broadway? A show, just like you talked about before. I don’t think you realize how your aura changed when you brought it up. I wish you could have seen what I saw.” 

“I need to go.” Blaine sniffled. “Thank you. For talking to me.” And he hung up before he could get a response that he knew would only make him feel worse. 

***

Over the next few weeks, Blaine found himself once again going through the motions. Working longer and later hours, barely eating, keeping a fake smile on his face whenever his coworkers were near, until one night he fell asleep at his desk in the middle of writing up a report. 

Waking up in a vacant office building around 11pm with “Bottom of the Fun” smudged on his cheek in ink was when Blaine knew he had hit one of the lowest points in his life. 

The computer screen had gone to sleep, only the screensaver bouncing around listlessly like it too wanted someone to end its misery. 

Blaine rolled his chair back and trudged to the restroom, wetting a paper towel with soap and attempting to scrub the writing off his face. 

His boss had met with him earlier in the week about a position opening up and that he was in line for the promotion if he wanted it. All he had to do was prepare a slew of proposals in record time to prove he would be ready to lead a team with his ideas. 

But it was now Friday night, and no one with even a sliver of self-respect was still hanging around the Financial District dressed in a disheveled suit from the day. 

In the mirror, Blaine fixed and smoothed his shirt and hair, loosening his bow tie and stowing it away in his pants pocket. 

In eerie silence, he took the elevator down to the lobby, making his way out past nighttime security. 

A shock of cold air hit Blaine as he stepped outside onto the sidewalk. As he began to walk, the cool air stung his sinuses, waking him up, and he felt lighter and overcome with a strange sense of clarity. 

Being in a city of over eight million people, Blaine was foolish to be shutting himself away from everyone and everything around him. 

Life and time was fleeting. And it went on, with or without him. 

Kurt was right, and Blaine had known it all along. 

No one was going to save Blaine. The only way he’d ever find peace was if he put the war inside to rest and treated himself with kindness. He was the only thing now standing in the way of himself.

Broadway was already dark for the night, but there was so much life in the city and so many places where music could be found. 

So when Blaine reached the subway entrance, he kept walking. And he continued walking and listening and taking in all the lights and people around him. And when he reached Washington Square Park, he heard a drum circle and got a whiff of a burning joint, and he breathed in, his pace quickening and feet falling in time with the frantic beat. 

Blaine walked on, feeling the firm ground beneath his feet, the gentle yet brisk breeze passing over him like air currents around the wings of a plane. He passed restaurants and diners and street vendors, bars and clubs and darkened storefronts, the aroma of various foods swirling around him and then dissipating as he passed each one. 

Eventually, he arrived outside a white-washed brick building accented with a red and white awning, windows, and entryway, the broad wooden sign hanging down above the crowd milling about just outside its doors boldly declaring its name. 

The tinkling of a piano could be heard from within, drifting out as a steady stream of patrons swung open and closed the door. 

Blaine entered, descending the steps into the small basement cafe and bar. String lights lit the ceiling in an array of colors, the full spectrum not only visible in the dimly lit interior decorations but in the people packed into the venue. 

With some resistance, Blaine made his way to the back where the bar was situated, easily securing a beer and slipping a ten to the bartender before taking a step into the crowd. 

He was glad for the darkness and high volume of guests, and it was difficult to see past taller individuals to get a clear view of the performer at the piano, but Blaine listened to the swell of voices that joined in as the song reached its resolution. 

There were cheers and chatter as the song transitioned into something slower paced, something more somber yet beautiful in its simplicity. 

Blaine sipped his beer as a deep, steady voice at the piano sang out the first verse:

_“Someone to hold you too close_

_Someone to hurt you too deep_

_Someone to sit in your chair_

_And ruin your sleep…”_

Oh. _Company_. He knew this one. There was a slight pickup in the beat, and then a new voice rang out, shaking Blaine to his core. 

_“Someone to need you too much_

_Someone to know you too well_

_Someone to pull you up short_

_To put you through hell...”_

It was impossible. That voice...it was hauntingly familiar. Blaine craned his neck, but still couldn’t get a glimpse of the singer. 

_“Someone you have to let in_

_Someone whose feelings you spare_

_Someone who, like it or not_

_Will want you to share_

_A little a lot…”_

Voices in the crowd had been humming along softly, but then they quieted as the song moved closer to its climax. 

_“Someone to crowd you with love_

_Someone to force you to care_

_Someone to make you come through_

_Who'll always be there_

_As frightened as you_

_Of being alive_

_Being alive_

_Being alive_

_Being alive”_

That’s when Blaine heard it clearly, the unmistakable voice of…

Whispers of excitement replaced the melodic humming.

_“It’s Kurt Hummel!”_

_“Somebody, hold me too close_

_Somebody, hurt me too deep_

_Somebody, sit in my chair_

_And ruin my sleep_

_And make me aware_

_Of being alive_

_Being alive”_

The crowd parted a bit, and Blaine saw Kurt step up to the piano, now raised on a platform just a couple inches off the ground. 

_“Somebody, need me too much_

_Somebody, know me too well_

_Somebody, pull me up short_

_And put me through hell_

_And give me support_

_For being alive_

_Make me alive_

_Make me alive”_

This time, Blaine refused to stand idly by, simply admiring Kurt’s prowess. As he held his audience, mesmerized, Blaine pushed his way forward through the crowd. 

And then he sang, quietly and meekly at first, soon gaining confidence and reaching a volume that caused people to turn to see who was so bold as to sing over this celebrity’s rendition. 

_“Make me confused_

_Mock me with praise_

_Let me be used_

_Vary my days...”_

And their voices met in unison, harmonizing as Kurt’s eyes locked on the shadowed man. 

Kurt reached out a hand in Blaine’s direction, gesturing for him to come forward into the light and join him.

Blaine took his hand, Kurt’s eyes growing wide as he stepped into view. 

_“But alone_

_Is alone_

_Not alive”_

The duet suddenly shifted to a solo when Kurt’s voice dropped out before the final verse. Blaine was singing by himself, the entire room enraptured, including and especially Kurt, whom Blaine couldn’t take his eyes off of. 

_“Somebody, crowd me with love_

_Somebody, force me to care_

_Somebody, let me come through_

_I'll always be there_

_As frightened as you_

_To help us survive_

_Being alive_

_Being alive_

_Being alive!”_

It was over. 

Blaine wasn’t sure if he was breathing as deafening applause rose up, enveloping him and Kurt where they stood together by the piano. As he caught his breath, he was thrumming with a crazy energy he’d never felt before and couldn’t rightly describe. 

In a rush of noise and movement, Blaine was pulled by the hand back out through the crowd to the front walk. When the chilly night air hit him again, his senses fully returned.

It was calmer now, only the usual hum of city sounds surrounding them. A car drove by, illuminating Kurt’s face, and Blaine could see that he had been crying. 

“Blaine...that was...beautiful.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re here, Kurt.” 

“Quite frankly, neither can I. But now that I am, I’m happy I came.”

“But, why? I mean, how?”

“I suppose Cooper deserves some of the credit. I’ve been working with him for a while now. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. But, after hearing his story and having many many long conversations, I realized that I don’t want to be pushing forty, still single and alone. And to be completely honest, Blaine, I have been _terrified_ of love. I love the idea of love and romance, but when it really comes down to being vulnerable with someone, I too often found myself making excuses and keeping people I care about at a distance. Like you. But because it was different with you. I thought that I was finally ready to let you in, and then you told me you were leaving. It was foolish of me, but I selfishly wanted you to move in right then and there, like a U-Haul lesbian.”

Blaine laughed partially in disbelief at Kurt’s confession. Yet, he _had_ come all this way, and somehow had ended up in the same place at the right time. 

“So, what does this mean?” Blaine asked, searching Kurt’s face. “Are we doing this then? Are we taking a chance?” 

Kurt bit his lip and nodded. He wrapped his arms around Blaine’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I want to roll the dice with you, Blaine Anderson. Although, I know the risk is low, since compatibility is kinda my expertise. Let’s see where it takes us, shall we?”

“How about my hotel room?” Blaine dared, his hands finding Kurt’s hips, feeling as if it was all or nothing in this moment. “Stay. I’m set to sign the closing documents on my new place Monday morning. It would mean everything to me if you would accompany me.”

Kurt swallowed hard, a lone tear trickling from the corner of his eye. “Yeah. I want to go back to your hotel room. After all, I did fly all the way to New York to see you.”

Blaine’s mouth found Kurt’s, his chest swelling and heart full to bursting.

 _Alive_ , it thumped. _Alive_ . _Alive_...

He said yes. Kurt said yes, and now all Blaine could think about was not wasting even a second more. He’d been waiting forever, and here Kurt was, standing before him, telling him he wants him too. 

When the Uber rolled up, Blaine pulled Kurt inside, giggling like a teenager leaving prom with his date. 

***

Once they arrived at the hotel, they could hardly keep their hands off each other, and once inside the room with shoes kicked off, Blaine became momentarily breathless as he took in Kurt, thinking about what was going to happen next. 

“You’ve never had a man in your room before, have you,” Kurt said, a statement, not so much a question. 

Blaine shook his head. “You’re my first.”

“Then I’ll be…” Kurt kissed his lips, pulling back to whisper by his ear, “...gentle.” 

Blaine gasped, feeling heat blossom from his core to every limb and appendage as Kurt pressed kisses to his neck just below his ear, his hands finding Blaine’s ass, squeezing and closing the space between their bodies. 

Kurt walked Blaine backward until he was at the edge of the bed, planting kisses on his mouth, along his jawline, and down his neck to his shoulder as he worked Blaine’s belt buckle open, sliding it out with one smooth movement and tossing it to the floor. 

Off came their shirts as Blaine made haste pulling off his own before helping Kurt with the many buttons and through the many layers that delayed Blaine’s satisfaction of seeing and feeling heated skin on his skin, but once Kurt’s vest and blouse slid off his shoulders and landed on the floor, Blaine’s brain short-circuited, his mouth finding Kurt’s collarbone, peppering kisses and sucking gently on taut skin. 

The soft scrape of Blaine’s teeth elicited a moan from Kurt that made Blaine’s pants tighten more than he believed possible, and he needed them off stat. 

Kurt seemed to have the same thought, quicker to the punch as he pushed Blaine backwards onto the bed, unbuttoned the front of Blaine’s pants, and hooked fingers under the waistband, removing both pants and boxer briefs in one fell swoop. 

“Oh,” Blaine breathed, now lying bare and fully erect before Kurt, completely at his mercy. 

Kurt raked hungry eyes over the length of Blaine’s body, undoing and peeling off his own pants and boxer briefs before climbing on hands and knees into the bed, his face and body now mere inches from Blaine’s. 

“Oh, one moment,” Kurt said, leaning over the side of the bed with a soft grunt to fish something out of the back pocket of his discarded pants. 

Repositioning himself, he held up a wrapped condom between two fingers in Blaine’s view. Then he tossed it beside the pillow within reach, leaning in to catch Blaine’s mouth with his once again, slowly rolling his hips downward, catching friction against Blaine’s thigh. 

“Oh, w-wow…” Blaine stuttered, gasping. 

Kurt repositioned Blaine’s legs until his knees met his chest, and he moaned pitifully as Kurt pressed himself against Blaine’s ass, dragging himself slowly along the crevice. 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Kurt said. 

“I want...definitely want you...there,” Blaine said, practically begging as Kurt stroked Blaine between their bodies. 

“Well, shit,” Kurt said softly, once again reaching down off the bed into his pants to pull out a small packet of lubricant. 

“You were carrying that around with you?” Blaine asked, somewhat amused but somehow even more turned on by Kurt’s preparedness. 

“Imagine if I hadn’t been,” he said, lifting his eyebrows. 

“No, thank you,” Blaine said, grabbing his shoulder and pulling Kurt back down on top of him. He could feel every inch of Kurt’s body over every inch of his own. Noses lightly brushing, he added, “I’ve been imagining what this might be like for far too long. Now I want you to _really_ fuck me.”

With his teeth, Kurt tore open the packet of lubricant, squeezing its contents onto his fingers to warm it up. 

He lowered his face by Blaine’s ear. “If it’s too much, tell me to stop.”

A fingertip traced the ring of Blaine’s ass, gently, gradually pressing itself inside. And soon Kurt’s entire finger was inside, up to his knuckle, and Blaine bit back moans as Kurt began to pull back and push forward again, beginning to work him open.

Blaine dug his fingers into Kurt’s back as Kurt slid a second finger inside, stretching and loosening him more, and Blaine breathed through the pressure and sensation as a third finger entered him. 

“How does that feel?” Kurt asked. 

“Good,” Blaine said gruffly, “it’s good.”

After a few more thrusts, Kurt’s fingers were gone, and Blaine craved that feeling of fullness again. 

Blaine watched eagerly as Kurt tore the condom wrapper open and rolled it down to the base. He squeezed the remainder of the lubricant on himself, stroking a few times before lining himself up. 

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut tight as the blunt pressure of Kurt’s cock gradually entered him, and he cried out when Kurt began to move.

“Oh, fuck, Kurt,” he mumbled, his body rocking with each rhythmic thrust. “Fuck, wow, fuck...oh my _god_.”

Blaine felt a shockwave of pleasure surge through his body that was unlike anything he’d felt before.

Kurt moaned loudly in response, angling himself and thrusting into that incredibly sensitive spot, again, and again until Blaine was mumbling incoherently, his back arching as Kurt quickened his pace, chasing the sensation as it became more and more intense, almost unbearable, until...

The gravitational pull of their bodies was like two suns colliding, fusing into one as Blaine held Kurt tightly as if he might die if he let go. 

With Kurt buried deep inside him, crying out, Blaine felt his orgasm spill hot over his stomach, pulsing again and again until his body collapsed in exhaustion. 

Kurt’s body shuddered, his hips rocking forward twice more as he came inside the tight heat of Blaine’s ass. 

Sliding himself out, he collapsed onto the bed beside Blaine, turning his head to admire how utterly wrecked he looked, lying there slick with sweat, completely blissed out. 

There was a snapping noise as Kurt removed the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the nearby waste bin. 

He rolled over onto his side, placing a palm on Blaine’s chest and watching it rise and fall as his breathing began to steady. 

Blaine rolled onto his side to face Kurt, taking him by the wrist to hold between their bodies. His thumb massaged the back of Kurt’s hand just below the knuckles, tracing back and forth like a slow metronome. 

Kurt hummed contentedly, his eyes half-closed as he grinned softly at Blaine. “Hi,” he said, just above a whisper. 

“Hi,” Blaine echoed, their noses brushing as they came to rest with foreheads touching. 

“I…” Kurt began, his eyes drooping as he began to drift off. 

“I think I love you,” Blaine whispered, warm and sated and feeling as if he was sinking into the mattress. 

***

The sound of birdsong floated overhead as the morning sun broke through the clouds, illuminating the number 68 on the glossy black door. 

“What a shame,” Kurt said, shaking his head.

Blaine paused, key poised in hand midair on its way to unlocking the door. “What?”

“Never mind,” he said with an impish grin. “Let’s go in!”

Blaine gave Kurt an incredulous look before rolling his eyes. He inserted the key, unlocking it with a click before pushing the door open.

Kurt peered in over Blaine’s shoulder, entering in tow. 

Blaine looked around at the stark white walls, and all he could think about was how many years he had left, to cover those walls with new stories and memories, to paint them vibrant colors and fill them with art, and to create a space that was fully and truly him. 

Blaine turned to Kurt, gently clearing his throat. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us and about our future...” he began. 

Kurt crossed his arms. “You better not get down on your knee, Blaine Anderson, because the only time I want to see you on your knees is in the bedroom.”

Blaine laughed. “You never cease to surprise me with your ruthless honesty. No, Kurt, nothing like that. I know that I want to be with you and only you. But I don’t want to get married again. I don’t think I’m any good at marriage, but I’m ready to commit to a life by your side, Kurt.”

“That sure sounds like a proposal.”

They shared an awkward laugh, breaking the tension a bit. 

Suddenly, Kurt was sweeping Blaine up off his feet into his arms, one tucked under his arms and the other behind his knees. 

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Blaine said, his heart racing from the shock.

“I’m carrying you bridal style,” Kurt said, as if it were obvious. “Because if we’re going to go ahead and skip the marriage thing, then I’m sure as hell not going to miss the opportunity to participate in another archaic sexist tradition—but, hey, it’s romantic!” he jested. 

“Kurt, what are you—?”

Kurt turned and carried Blaine back over the threshold to the front step, gently setting him down and massaging his biceps. 

“Jeez, Blaine. You're heavier than you look. Why did I think that would be easy?” he said more to himself. 

Blaine began to laugh again, but it was muffled by a kiss. Although unexpected, Blaine relaxed and melted into it, eagerly kissing Kurt back out in the open where everyone could see. 

Passersby whooped at the public display, and Blaine smiled against Kurt’s mouth as Kurt deepened the kiss. 

When they separated, Blaine grabbed Kurt’s right hand with both hands. He pressed a copy of the house key into his palm before letting go.

“Oh,” Kurt gasped, looking down with eyes wide in realization. “This is...a big deal.”

“I know I said that marriage is off the table, but this is to show you how serious I am,” Blaine said. 

“It’s not Tiffany,” Kurt sighed in jest, “And my finger is ever so pitifully bare, but I suppose a key _ring_ will do.” 

Blaine’s brow furrowed. “I—“ 

“Shush, it’s perfect.” 

Kurt closed his fingers around the thin, metallic promise. 

To have. To hold. Until their lives outgrow this limited square footage. Together. 


End file.
